


All Highs Moments in Life Make for a Harder Fall

by Eridanae



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Warden Inquisitor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 05:34:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 57,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8150908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eridanae/pseuds/Eridanae
Summary: Elissa Cousland didn't think that Fate would be so mean to her ten years after the Fifth Blight. She had thought that after the Blight, her life would have been a little more calm. Instead, she had to battle Darkspawn and Spirits and Politicians and Friendships, even her principles, in the hope of making a better world. Again. What had she done to Otherwordly Entities to make her their favorite target?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to make my own story for a Warden Inquisitor, so here am I!  
> Some things have been changed from Canon (Origins) for my Warden, to better handle my plot in the Inquisition. For those that don't support that, time to make a 180 turn. For those that accept a change from Canon, you can keep going on reading.  
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
> The updates will take time. You've been warned.  
> I own nothing but my own imagination.

The Song was never ending; it was with her the days and the nights. It was painful and her eardrums were screaming in protest about that travesty of art.

The Song was all she wanted. It was the reason to her life, the reason why she was on Thedas soil, drinking the blood of her enemies like a sacred nectar of the Gods. It was the sole reason to her wanting to be alive.

She was a slave. A slave to the Voice Calling her to do her duty; Calling to something inside her, making her blood boil with want and need, wanting her to go to the Caller and fall at His feet, adoring Him.

She was a human, a free human, free of destiny. Nobody had the right or the power to control her. She was her own person and her own chief. She was the one to do what she wanted, to make her life as she would see it.

Moreover, she was beginning to go insane and she knew that, but no one around her knew that. She was good at hiding her madness. She was good at being an actress, playing a role. Playing her own role in this war.

All of it began with the Blight.

But it was beginning to be a nightmare since the day of the Conclave. Since her world ended in a nightmarish cry of help and began anew with the Voice inside her and a Mark on her hand.


	2. Haven, or haven’t I? (part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter will follow Canon of DA: Inquisition with some changes, so if you recognize the events and dialog, it's quite normal. The changes will be more seen after this first chapter.  
> Enjoy!

She was in pain, her hand was pulsing with an ominous greenish mark of magic and her headache never ceased since she awoke on a hard and dirty floor, with the Voice Calling her.

And now, since she didn’t deserve to have a moment of tranquility, there was _this_. The interrogation from two figures and one of them she couldn’t properly see, because it stayed in the shadows of the cell. It wasn’t creepy at all.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you,” one of the figures said, her voice wavering between anguish and anger.

Her day had gone from bad to worse in a matter of minutes. She didn’t know who was the unpleasant woman accusing her, but if the woman with the pronounced accent – Nevarra, wasn’t it – figured she was going to talk about something she didn’t even remember being in or doing, she had one thing coming. Moreover, she didn’t talk to unpleasant people throwing accusations like that at her.

All of a sudden, the Nevarran woman was grabbing her hand with force and taking on a most unpleasant expression on her face. Yes, she thought to herself, her captor was definitely unpleasant, and that was the least of the word coming to her brain.

“Explain _this_ ,” she ordered.

And for what seemed like the word of the Maker, or just her luck, the glowing mark on her hand frizzled and grizzled in response, like a deadly answer from her.

She trapped the groan wanting to escape in her throat with effort. She had to be diplomatic. She was the diplomatic one. It was her husband that wasn’t quite diplomatic. His brand of diplomatic skill, as he liked to tell all concerned parties, was bashing his shield in people’s head.

_“They agree to whatever you tell them after that,” he had told her with pride._

_“Yes, dear,” she had answered in a sweet voice, like to a misbehaving child you didn’t want to reprimand. “Because you don’t let them have a brain to understand the situation.”_

_“Well,” he had countered with finality. “It worked, didn’t it?”_

And that was the only lesson in negotiation that Alistair wanted to know.

“I– I can’t,” she said.

Her hand was released with disgust and she let them fall on her thighs.

Breathing calmly, she wondered how she ended up here in the first place. She wasn’t even sure what here was, but something in the air spoke to her, like a half remembered dream. And to say that her dreams were hardly pleasant were an understatement, because she was a Warden. More importantly, she was a Warden who passed the Joining while the Blight was upon them. The rumors were of symptoms more violent for the Wardens while introduced during a Blight. For years, now that she knew other Wardens, she could attest to these rumors.

She cursed her luck again, then cursed the place, because it seemed to jog unpleasant memories from her mind.

“What do you mean, you can’t?” the woman barked.

She was envying the diplomatic skills of her husband as of now, but she couldn’t fall like that. She may have a harsh tongue sometimes and a smart tone some other times, but she was also a Cousland, a proud Ferelden of the noble Cousland line. She was the proud descendant of soldiers and sailors; she was also the wife of Alistair Therein, King of Ferelden, which made her Elissa Cousland, Queen of Ferelden. And, just to remember all her titles, she was Warden-Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, Arlessa of the City of Amaranthine and last but not least, Hero of Ferelden.

In the name of civility for all her titles more than for the captors holding her and interrogating her, she kept her thoughts to herself.

“I don’t know what that is, or how it got there,” she said plainly.

“You’re lying!” the woman cried, throwing herself on her and gripping harshly the front of her tunic in her unyielding hands.

“We need her, Cassandra,” a feminine voice said, the hidden figure positioning herself between the unpleasant woman and her lucky self, forcing more space to be made.

Wha– _what_? She knew that voice! And there, in all her hidden glory stood Leliana. With as much dignity as she could, Elissa authorized her body a few seconds of surprise in the form of a gaping mouth, before her Court face took place, obstructing her features once more.

She clenched her jaw and gritted her teeth. What the hell was Leliana playing at? Didn’t she know she wouldn’t do anything of what this Cassandra character was accusing her of? Was that some revenge, maybe? A Bard thing? A Chantry thing?

… Didn’t she recognize her?

In her confused mind, she told herself to wait and see, but the need for answers was fast approaching.

“So, what happens now?” she demanded, because like hell was she going to stay here and die in a creepy cell with water problems. The sound of drops of water falling on the already damp ground was making her crazy.

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” Leliana asked, her voice far more pleasant than that of Cassandra and her harsh accent.

Good question. She frowned and tried her hardest to make sense of the last of her memories, but it was like a barrier had been erected to prevent her from remembering. She didn’t like that at all.

“I remember running. _Things_ were chasing me, and then… A woman?” she responded, searching deep inside her memory to try and recreate the puzzle.

For an instant, her memory and the Song were overlapping each other and she couldn’t do anything but drown in her own mind, never touching the shore; and then, the second passed and she was safe in her body once more, but with the ghostly presence of Him somewhere in her head, waiting to strike, wanting to Call, but only humming a never ending Song of pain and Darkness and glory and Beauty. At first, she hadn’t understood why beauty. But for some time now, she knew why Beauty called to her mind: after all, Urthemiel had been the God of Beauty and she had defeated Him.

“A woman?” the bard pressed.

She looked to the side, narrowing her eyes in concentration.

“She reached out to me, but then…”

But then, nothing, until she woke up in a cell with drops of water for only company and cramping muscles in all her body.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

Oh, the unpleasant Cassandra rejoined at last. Elissa couldn’t wait to be alone with her. She wouldn’t be surprised if she took a fall and unhappily landed on the pointy end of a sword.

She hoped Alistair would avenge her if that happened, but not start a war. She didn’t want a war to ravage her country once more, the Blight had already been a hardship to overcome, she didn’t want another one.

Leliana took her leave with a last glance in her direction and then, Cassandra was divesting her of the cuffs linked to the floor. Well then, things were looking up, she could stand up now. Lucky her.

Wait, her mind was looking and sounding more and more like Alistair. Oh, her husband would be so happy to hear that she had his humor in her head, but she would make a stand if she began thinking about cheese. She didn’t want to think about cheese.

Time to face the music and return to her present situation.

“What _did_ happen?” she asked, when the silence continued and Cassandra wasn’t killing her immediately.

“It… will be easier to show you,” she responded.

Her voice was more gentle that time, or maybe more tired, or both of the above. She sounded weary, as if the weight of the world had ended on her shoulders. Elissa could understand that part, if nothing else.

Standing up with the help of Cassandra, they walked to the doors opening in front of them.

The first shock she received was the cold air hitting her. The cold was unforgiving and she remembered standing in it once or twice before. Haven. She was in Haven, where cultists fought against her, where a _dragon_ attacked her, where the cultists thought Andraste was reborn in the said _dragon_ and where she froze her ass off, trying her damnedest best to rescue Brother Genitivi, rescue the villagers, find Andraste’s Ashes and, of course, survive all of the above. Again.

No, Haven was decidedly not in the good memories she had of the year on the road during the Blight.

In fact, if the Conclave did happen in Haven, she wouldn’t have come _here_ of all places. Which put forward the question: _what_ was she doing _here_ of all places?

The second shock she received was the big glowing green hole in the sky that had a frightening resemblance to the glowing green mark on her hand.

What the hell happened to her? It didn’t sound good in her head. She began to understand why she had been the recipient from all this unpleasantness from Cassandra – or maybe the woman was an all-around unpleasant person. She certainly would have been a bit more diplomatic, but no less forceful.

In front of her, Cassandra took a few more steps on the paved road before stopping and raising her eyes to the hole in the sky.

“We call it “the Breach”,” she said, as if discussing the weather. Elissa wanted to throttle her. She just kept looking at her instead. “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift,” the Nevarran explained, turning to look at her and advancing toward her. “Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

She wanted to gape now or maybe point to the glowing rift with a finger and run in the other direction, she didn’t really know.

“An explosion can do that?” she exclaimed.

What was the world coming to? Did she really want to be in another world-ending disaster? Because that glowing hole looked to be very world-ending. She didn’t! She wanted to go home and hug the life out of Aedan, Lilian, Bryce, Eleanor and little Duncan. She wanted to grasp Alistair by the front of his royal tunics and throw him on their bed to have her wicked way with him.

But, really, when had the world been kind to her? Well… the last years had been kind, even if governing a country – and the Grey Wardens of Ferelden – was a difficult task. She had her family now, Alistair and their five children. Even her brother had another family, with another Antivan woman with a strong character.

“This one did,” Cassandra said. “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

Like a sign from the Breach, it won a little bit more space in the sky and with it, the mark on her hand answered in kind. With a helpless cry of pain that tore through her throat, she fell on her knees, trying – and failing – to throw the Song at the back of her head when it became loud again. She made a fist and put her hand against her chest, trying to protect it from the air and trying to find a hidden reserve of strength in her to make it stop, to make all of it stop.

The Song receded after a few seconds – but she could have sworn it was hours – becoming again a low hum in her mind, and the pain retracted from her hand, when the glowing ceased. Cassandra was in front of her, eyes hard and intent on her.

“Each time the Breach expands, the Mark spreads… and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time,” the Nevarran said, interrupting her thoughts.

They really wanted her to save the world again, even without them knowing who she was. She was tired of all that. She didn’t even want to be in Haven, why was she here? To her knowledge, she had been somewhere in Soldier’s Peak, speaking to Avernus about his progress on the Cure for the Wardens. Where had her memories gone? In fact… How long ago the talk with Avernus had taken place? She didn’t even know what was the date and…

Okay, Elissa. You are okay – for the most part and for the moment. You can have a panic attack when all of this is resolved, which better be sooner rather than later.

“You say it may be the key, to doing what?” she demanded to know. More information was better than none.

“Closing the Breach. Whether that’s possible is something we shall discover shortly. It is our only chance, however. And yours.”

“You still think I did this?” she said, scoffing in incredulity. “To myself?” she accused then, not really knowing if she believed what sprouted from this woman’s mouth.

Who would want to open the sky like that? Certainly not someone human, or living in this world! And that was the problem, wasn’t it? People were afraid of what it could mean, because the last time something so dangerous had been seen on the surface of Thedas, it had been the Blight with its Archdemon.

“Not intentionally. _Something_ … clearly went wrong,” Cassandra informed her; if she didn’t know better, she would even say that the Nevarran was trying to be polite in her wording to not provoke her.

What was she afraid of? It wasn’t as if she could attack her or hurt her, bound as she was and with an armed guard watching her every moves.

“And if I’m not responsible?” she argued.

She loved arguing, it was one of her better skill. Even younger, she loved to argue against everyone and anyone until said person gave up about the argument and agreed to whatever she wanted.

She knew it had exasperated her mother, but her father had encouraged her to keep that skill, but to refine it to be useful in political affairs. She was to be a noble of high stature after all and she would have to be a skilled politician.

“Someone is, and you are our only suspect. You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.”

Prove her innocence? She didn’t have to prove anything, she didn’t do anything! She might be a little insane sometimes, but not of the apocalyptic sort. Plus, she had given too much to the Blight and the world to see it ending now.

She had always been in favor of the presumption of innocence until proof of the contrary and now, she understood better than never why that was. The presumption of culpability was barbaric! And they were all saying that Ferelden was the land of savages!

She huffed a laugh. Even Mabaris were better behaved than that and had better instinct concerning the character of a person. A Mabari would never imprint on someone who did not have nor inspire some sort of redeeming quality.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” she demanded finally, when she won over the hysterical laughter that wanted to escape her mouth.

She could read the disapproval in Cassandra’s face, but she didn’t say anything else.

She, Elissa Cousland, was one of the most influential and powerful woman on Thedas and she was in chains. So much for all that power, all that time, all the blood and sweat she gave to save them all. The bitter taste in her mouth was what she experienced every time human treachery entered the play.

The Nevarran helped her get to her feet and dragged her toward the little camp, where the people were looking at her, shaming her with their eyes – as if they knew better than her what she did do or did not do – and demanding answers to a question for which she had none. She could feel their hate and their judgement even before being put on trial. She hoped they weren’t all Ferelden and that some of them had faith in her still, but apparently, she was unrecognizable. She was incognito. Nobody knew her or her purpose here in Haven. Not even her.

“They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, Head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between Mages and Templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead,” Cassandra was enlightening her.

In front of them, a soldier opened a door for them to pass. At her side, Cassandra kept talking about the Conclave and what it was meant to do. If she didn’t know better, she would believe the Nevarran was trying to make her believe, in their cause, if not in the Maker.

“We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves. As she did. Until the Breach is sealed.”

The doors behind them and a group of persons not far for them, the Nevarran put a hand in from of her prisoner, blocking her way. Without saying anything, Elissa stopped and looked at the woman. When she took a knife from her belt, a part of her mind thought ‘Oh, look, it’s not a pointy sword, it’s a pointy dagger!’ and another part thought ‘She really is going to let me going free when she still thinks I did the world-ending hole? Is she real? Or so confident in her ability to take care of me maybe?’

“There will be a trial. I can promise no more,” the Nevarran assured.

She was right in the fact that Cassandra had to be pretty confident about her abilities, because she didn’t kill her, she just cut through the rope tying her hands together.

“Come,” the woman ordered. “It is not far.”

“Where are you taking me?” Elissa demanded, exasperated by the situation, the conversation and the cold making her toes freeze in her boots.

“Your Mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach,” the Nevarran answered – which was kind of nice, since Elissa didn’t think she would obtain such information from her captor.

When she raised her head and looked around to the few people assembled and praying to the Maker here, after having brought back the blood and the sensations in her hands by rubbing them, she heard a sudden intake of breath from one of the men. It was the Mayor of Haven.

A gasp escaped then the lips of the Mayor, who stood among them, as he recognized her and as the situation finally sank into his and her mind. She was a little angry that a near stranger – okay, so she met him every year for the annual gathering of the Chantry of the country and to be kept informed about the Temple of the supposed last resting place of Andraste – had better skills to identify who she was than her actual friend and Bard, Leliana.

She recognized him too, because – without the gatherings in mind – within a few short months of the end of the Blight, Alistair and she came back to Haven to sort through the mess they had caused and the miracle they had discovered. It had been a hard time, because she had been weak from the fight with the Archdemon and hormonal because of her first pregnancy – Alistair had been as elated as he had been frightened of being a father and she had been sick and depressed and happy and all feelings a human could possibly feel.

She remembered the Mayor with vivid clarity because he had been a boon at the time, providing her with comfortable lodgings for her pregnant self and trying to keep the King focus on him to free her of his constant overbearing tendencies.

_“I don’t know how to thank you for all that you did for me, Mayor,” she had told him once._

_He had laughed and made a sweeping gesture with his hand, as if to ward off any thanks coming his way._

_“Do not worry, Your Masjesty,” he had told her. “I know all too well what you are going through. My wife went through a dozen pregnancies.”_

_At the look of horror on her face – she couldn’t imagine how a woman could want that much children, because for her, she didn’t want another pregnancy, thank you very much, one was all she could go through – he laughed again._

_“The children are a gift, Your Majesty,” he had said with a gentle tone. “They are the result of our love. But I realize carrying them is a burden only females can understand and that the males can only be there and support them any way they can.”_

_Yes, but not being_ too _helpful, as had been her husband. She hadn’t been sick, she had been pregnant._

_“And,” he had continued. “The child of the royal couple can only mean a great blessing for the kingdom.”_

_She had nodded, because that was true. More so for them, as she and Alistair were Wardens and weren’t meant to be so fertile. In fact, they were supposed to be infertile._

_“Could you maybe help me with something? I need a disguise and a few minutes to myself.”_

_He had hesitated. No wonder, as helping her escape, even for a few minutes, could mean he could face the angry might of King Alistair. After a minute of thinking, he had acquiesced to her plan and helped her disguise herself. Thanks to him, she had had an hour just for her before Alistair and his royal guards had shown up, worried and frantic about her disappearance._

She had been banned from being alone after that and Alistair had been more insufferable than before.

With a low shake of her head in the direction of the Mayor, she pleaded with her eyes that he did not do something foolish, like reveal her identity. If she was unknown here, it certainly was for a reason and as she didn’t know that reason yet, she couldn’t uncover herself.

She understood too late that he would not do as she wanted. He was making his way to them, his gaze fierce and condemning and fixed on… Cassandra.

The relief she felt at that moment was, she knew, because someone believed in her to not have blown up the Haven Temple were the Conclave had been. She locked her trembling knees, preventing her to fall on the snow in gratitude. It would be disgraceful of her to do something of the sort.

“You!” the Mayor cried, pointing an accusing finger at Cassandra’s face. “What are you doing?”

“Out of my way, Mayor,” the Nevarran ordered with an austere scowl.

“Good, you’re not from Orlais,” he stated when he heard the harsh accent of the woman. Elissa understood the low opinions that Fereldans in general had of the Orlesians. She shared some of them herself. “That would have been a declaration of war if you had been,” he continued. “As it is, where do you come from? Because what you are doing is a declaration of war from your country to Ferelden, woman!”

Elissa closed her eyes. The Mayor was right, of course, but there was the hole in the sky to consider too.

“What are you talking about?” Cassandra asked.

The woman grabbed Elissa by the elbow to move her behind her and one of her hand went to the hilt of her sword at her belt, readying her stance to fight if the need arose.

The murmurs of the crowd – and she recognized them as the inhabitants of Haven, she had saved them after all and visited them some ten years ago – seemed to have increased with the indignation of their Mayor. He was normally a fairly mild-mannered man. For him to behave like he was, something had to be very bad.

“You have taken prisoner one of our own. If you don’t hand her over, we will be forced to inform the Crown and to take arms. You don’t threaten Ferelden and its people like that, woman,” he declared.

Somewhere behind him, a mabari howled.

Elissa felt her heart freeze and soar in joy at the same time as her head whipped around, searching for the origin of the sound. She knew that howl. It was Martel! Did he follow her from Denerim to Haven? That loyal, beautiful friend!

Without even thinking, she crouched low and opened her arms, calling her mabari’s name.

“Martel!”

He came barreling into her arms, bowling over a dozen people on his passage, but nobody said anything and she was proud, for an instant, of Ferelden people and their love and understanding of mabaris.

He licked her face, joyful. He stayed on her; needing to smell her and making her smell like him too. He had imprinted on her some long years ago, after all, and she had lost his smell in the last weeks due to their separation.

When their reunion calmed down, she stood up again, her faithful mabari at her heels, like they never were separated in the first place – but she knew she would need to do some cajoling with fresh meat and cookies when they could be alone.

The Mayor was regarding them with fondness in his eyes and Cassandra was standing a few feet apart from her, her sword out and her gazed fixed on the mabari, like she was waiting for him to attack her.

“You know,” Elissa said conversationally, “I won’t make him attack you. He had a long journey I imagine and he needs rest. Then, maybe I could demand him to do so.”

She cast a blindingly bright smile on Cassandra and saw the grip of the Nevarran tightening on her sword’s hilt.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw the Mayor roll his eyes at her utter lack of good humor in the face of danger. She knew he had discussed this with her husband once before, but she also knew that Alistair had said something outrageously humorous in reply, and maybe sarcastic, and from then onward, the Mayor of Haven had been asking the Maker for strength of will for the kingdom to support a royal couple of sarcastic Wardens. The Maker had heard his plea, he had decided, because the kingdom was here, always, and in some way, more livable than before. Maybe all the kingdom had been in need of had been sarcastic people at its head.

“Your Majesty,” the Mayor said, a gentle reproach in his voice.

Elissa cringed and tried desperately to appear unfeeling with the truth out in the open. If a hole could open under her feet to imitate the one in the sky, she would be thankful.

A gasp tore through the little crowd of Haven, and they all fell on their knees, bowing their heads, now that they knew who she was and why she had a familiar face. The more sceptics made the connection about the name of the mabari too. Martel was one the royal mabaris and a legend himself. He was the proud figure of the Ferelden nation and the reason why they loved their dogs so much.

“What?” Cassandra said, her tone incredulous and her face reflecting the emotions she was feeling.

“Yes,” the Mayor was in front of them now. “If you do not hand over Her Majesty over to her people, you will regret it.”

The Nevarran didn’t know what to say with such a claim, Elissa could tell. The woman didn’t seem to be all that comfortable with playing politics and her mind was torn in two: she wanted justice for what happened at the Temple, but she didn’t want another war as the Mage-Templar rebellion was already enough.

The moment her decision was made, she put her sword back on her hip again and took a step away from her, creating more space between her and Elissa.

With that, the Mayor rushed to her side and examined her with critical eyes.

“Your Majesty,” he exclaimed in admonishment. “King Alistair will not be happy to learn you are in the middle of a conflict! What about Prince Duncan? I thought the King said you wouldn’t be going out of the Palace to take care of him!”

“I am fine, Mayor Garthol. And circumstances demanded my attention. Warden Business.”

“Oh,” he only said.

She knew her people understood that she was Queen and was also Warden-Commander of Ferelden, but they didn’t really know what that involved. Only Alistair and her Wardens knew what she was doing for them in her duty of Warden-Commander.

“I…” It was Cassandra, trying to speak.

Elissa turned to her and tried to gauge the mood of the Nevarran.

“I am sorry for the deception, Lady Cassandra,” she told her in an official manner. “But things are not as they always seem.”

The Nevarran nodded slowly, not soothed by the words but a little mollified at least.

“And,” Elissa continued. “I will accompany you to the Breach. I don’t need to be in shackles to do what is best for Ferelden,” she said, one of her hand on Martel’s canine head, familiar under her touch. “Garthol,” she called.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he replied, bowing to her.

She sighed, already more tired than she ought to be.

“Could you prepare a letter to send to the King to inform him of the situation? And maybe, enforce in it, the need for him to stay in Denerim for now? We don’t need the country in more chaos if he is not there to supervise what is happening in Ferelden. And maybe… threaten him with an embargo on cheese if he doesn’t comply with the demands of his wife. Also, he needs to be there as I don’t want anyone else to care for my own children and he knows it.”

A smile crept up on the face of the Mayor. “I will do so, Your Majesty.”

“Also,” Elissa called the attention of everyone here. “Do not say a word about my identity to anyone. My safety and that of Ferelden and the Warden of Ferelden are concerned by that. Thank you. And…” she looked to the sky and to the glowing hole in the sky. “If it is in my power to stop it from spreading, I will do so.”

A cheer went up in the air and she smiled, satisfied that not all were up against her and that her people had enough faith in her and her abilities to make things better.

It was right that for ten years, she tried her best to give her fellow Fereldans the means to achieve a better life, from the alienage to the highest nobles in the country. She couldn’t desert them now, even if half of her team was in Denerim, so far away from her, that it ached.

She glanced at Cassandra.

“Let’s go.”

And they were gone.


	3. Haven, or haven’t I? (part 2)

They didn’t talk a lot on the way to the rift. She supposed the late revelation put Cassandra at a disadvantage and she didn’t know how to really absorb or react to this new development. Elissa imagined that the woman, who presented herself as a Seeker and the Right Hand of the Divine – which made a lot of sense about the want for justice to be made and be swift and the need to do what the Divine had been here to do initially – was trying to reconcile the image she had of the Hero of Ferelden, with that of the Warden-Queen of Ferelden and with the last, with the bearer of a mark, unknown until then.

With not much conversation made on the road, they made good time to their next destination, halted only to fight demons and angry spirits with swords, shields, charges and howls from her faithful canine companion.

As it was, their next destination was some crumbling ruins where a fight could be heard taking place. A mage, a dwarf and two soldiers were there, defending themselves against demons. Shouts erupted with the buzzing of magic and the whistling of arrows.

With a cry, Elissa ran into the fighting, sword held high above her head and shield held in place near her body, Martel on her heels. Behind her, she could hear the heavy pace of Cassandra, who joined her in the fray. With that much manpower, the demons were soon in the best state they could be in: dead and not much of a problem anymore.

With a satisfied smile, Elissa returned her sword on her belt. She hadn’t even used her special abilities, which she considered was best for now. Between her knowledge about Templar moves and her knowledge of Avernus research that she could both use on the battlefield, she knew she was in possession of questionable means of fighting. Until she had to use them, she was content to do as if she was just an ordinary but formidable warrior.

However, the demons and her abilities were not the only problem. The ominous glittering green rift near head-level was a reminder of that.

“Quickly, before more come through!” cried the bald elf she ended next to during the fight.

Without asking, he took her left wrist and put it in the air, pointing her palm toward the leaking rift.

A sensation as none other she knew overcame her and in an instant, the rift and the Mark were linked. As the link was created, her mind openly welcomed the Song and her hand buzzed and pulled and pulled, trying to bring the rift to it, to her. It was painful and beautiful and she wanted it to end, but she didn’t want to stop listening either.

The Song ended in a painful crescendo when the rift finally retracted on itself, until it became non-existent with a last agonizing pull of the Mark and an explosion of sound and light.

“What did you do?” she demanded turning her suspicious eyes on the bald elf, her frown so pronounced she could feel her eyebrows pulled in a severe grimace of disapproving contempt for the elf that had grabbed her arm.

Nobody had the right to touch her without her permission. Nobody had the right to make her do things – magic things – without her consent. And, more important than anything else, nobody had the right to make the Song loud in her mind, even unknowingly. It was the best way to make her go insane or become a darkspawn. And with her abilities, becoming a darkspawn was out of the question. Plus, she was a Warden and worse, she was a female Warden.

More than that, all her left arm was numb now, a slow ache spreading from the end of her fingers to the edge of her collarbone and beating like a living heart. She couldn’t feel her arm, even if she could move it as she could see when she brought her hand protectively to her chest. That was not good for her shield arm. The strategist in her head, planning battle and futures interactions, was there already, making adjustment to her fighting style.

She had always preferred fighting with a sword and a dagger, but she had reverted to a shield instead of a dagger when she had taken the throne. More for protection of her belly and the reassurance of the nobles of Ferelden, who were all afraid for their Queen on a battlefield, than anything else. Since then, she had been pregnant a number of time that had her avoiding returning to her other style.

However, here she was, with a Mark on her hand that seemed good for closing the rifts in the sky. She needed the liberty of movement a dagger could offer, more than the protection of a shield.

“ _I_ did nothing. The credit is yours,” was the response the elf gave her, with a smirking tone of voice, as if pleased.

A growl came from next to her. Martel was showing his teeth to the elf, determining at the sound of her voice, that she was suspicious of this being. With a quick caress on its head and an implicit order to calm down, he sat back down, but kept his eyes locked on the elf.

Elissa wanted to glower at the elf, but she knew of her precarious position and situation. It wouldn't do to antagonize everyone she met when she had no one at her back to help and relieve her of her duty. Her question of what she was doing alone was back at the forefront of her mind, before she pushed it back down. It wasn’t the right time to ponder on these questions. Plus, she had to show Martel she could perfectly well be civil in society.

“You mean _this_ ,” she said with her hand held in front of her.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand,” agreed the elf.

She glanced at the glowing Mark on her palm, hating it by principle and not at all fascinated by where it came from or what it could do.

“I theorized the Mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct,” he explained to her with a smug tone in his speech that she didn’t like.

He didn’t do anything, for him to have that much haughtiness. Maybe he was arrogant by nature, who knew?

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra said as she advanced toward them, hope and awe mixing in her voice as she finished her sentence.

“Possibly,” the elf responded.

How To Cut Short Every Hope One Could Have, next book written by Mister Smarmy Bastard, the Bald Elf, her inner Alistair voice joked in her mind. She swallowed back a laugh.

The elf turned to watch her, hands clasped in front of him with his staff held loosely. He adopted a serious air. She was dubious of its veracity.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” he continued.

How To Put The Weight Of The World On One Person Only, by Mister Smarmy Bastard, her inner Alistair told her again. She ignored him.

She glared at the elf under her lashes, trying to keep her thoughts to herself. When she was at the point to lose the fight to keep her mouth shut, the dwarf interrupted their conversation. She sighed with relief.

“Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

She turned on her feet to be face to face – well, face to chest she supposed – with the dwarf.

“Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong,” he presented himself before winking at the Seeker.

She liked him instantly, from his light chestnut brown hair pulled in a ponytail, to the light chestnut brown hairs seen on his very masculine chest. No need to know more about him, she knew he was someone she would like: he just winked at the severe Nevarran woman with a mischievous air about him and he wasn’t dead yet, even with the deadly scowl the Seeker sent his way. Also there was the fact that she had read his books too and the man – dwarf, whatever – was a romantic at heart. He couldn’t not be nice. Martel was waging his tail happily.

However, what the Storyteller was doing here was another question entirely. What was a famous dwarf doing here? He knew Cassandra, that much she could gather. Maybe… No. No? Hm…

“… I didn’t know the famous writer of Kirkwall was with a Chantry Seeker.”

Martel barked once.

“What?” Cassandra exclaimed behind her, confusion in her voice.

A snort came from her right and she turned her head a little to look at the elf.

“Was that a serious statement?” he questioned.

Varric was regarding her with a bemused half-smile, like he was trying to read her and to know if her words were from a defunct mind, a sane mind or simply a joke. He finally shrugged, seemingly none the wiser.

“Technically, I’m a prisoner. Just like you,” he answered, shifting his gloves on his hands to put them right again, head directed to them.

His acting was well played, Elissa mused. He was acting like he hadn’t a care in the world. Maybe they could share tidbit of information about performance like that. She was sure he could teach her a few things and she could teach him a few things too. After all, he had the people as a crowd and she had the nobles as one.

“Oh!” she exclaimed in delight, hitting her hands together in gleeful amusement, as her inner Alistair voice was roaring in laughter in her head. Time to chime in with her humor. Maybe they would let her go, just to be rid of her? “Lady Cassandra, I didn’t know you were that kind of woman, collecting men and women in chains!” She looked at her own outfit. “And leather.”

A smirk appeared on the face of the dwarf, before he slapped his thighs with both hands and laughed with her. Her mabari was rolling on the ground, hissing and barking in laughter too, making a mess of the ground by slobbering everywhere. She smiled at him fondly.

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine, Varric. Clearly, that is no longer necessary,” the Nevarran said to the dwarf, forgoing completely what Elissa alleged, mouth pulled in a tight line.

Elissa rolled her eyes. That woman had no sense of humor! The dwarf, Varric, was looking at the woman like he wasn’t impressed either by the Seeker and her lack of humor or the few words she had for him.

“Yet, here I am,” he stated, his expression beginning to lose the laugh lines near his eyes and mouth, to gain an air of seriousness. “Considering current events.”

The change overcoming the dwarf’s face was compelling. Elissa had the impression to see a totally different person. She didn’t like that. She was of the opinion that when Varric was not looking his cheerful self, things had to be bad in the world. She didn’t want things to be bad in the world, she wanted to ignore things for a little while, _ergo_ , Varric had to find his humor again.

“Yes, yet, here you are, with the world biggest and badassest crossbow in the world of Thedas,” she interrupted through the storm brewing between the Seeker and the Storyteller, hinting as she was to the big weapon that the dwarf was carrying on his back.

“Aaah,” he answered with fondness. “Isn’t she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together.”

“Oh, wow, and here I thought that naming a massive weapon was generally for those that lacked other natural means of... attacking…” she waved her hand in the general direction of the soil under her feet.

“Of course not!” Varric replied indignantly, understanding immediately what she was referring to, but the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth told her otherwise about his feelings. “She’s my loyal companion and she will be plenty useful in the valley.”

“Absolutely not!” interjected Cassandra.

She was trying to be friendly, Elissa could tell, but the woman had to have no training in being friendly, because her mouth was pulled downward, in the parody of a smile, likening it to a frightening rictus.

The Nevarran huffed loudly, before marching toward the dwarf.

“We appreciate your help, Varric, but—”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” the Storyteller cut her short. “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me,” he finished with a knowing smirk.

Cassandra turned on her heels with a disgusted noise from her throat and her face tight in anger and weary awareness of the truth in the dwarf’s words.

“My name is Solas, if there is to be introduction,” the bald elf presented himself, always that infuriating smile on his lips.

Elissa turned her gaze to him.

“I am pleased to see you still live,” he said, as if trading information about the weather.

“He means: ‘I kept that Mark from killing you, while you slept’,” translated Varric.

Oh, so that was why the elf was smirking in triumph! She grumbled mentally, cursing the fact that she had him to thank for her life.

“You seem to know a great deal about it all,” she remarked.

“Solas is an apostate,” the Seeker said.

Elissa shook her head. She had a distaste for the word apostate that rivalled her hatred for the now-dead Rendon Howe.

“Technically, all mages are apostates now, Cassandra,” Solas responded calmly. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade. Far beyond the experience of any Circle mages. I came to offer whatever help I can give, with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”

Did he have to be so condescending? She knew Circle mages and they were powerful and knowledgeable in their own rights. Moreover, did he have to bring the destruction of the world in the conversation?

“I will do what I must,” she told him, a little short in her tone and manner, but his every act had her gritting her teeth.

“Cassandra,” he called the Seeker. “You should know: the magic involved here was unlike any I’ve seen. Your prisoner isn’t a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage to have such power.”

“Understood,” she answered with a sigh. “We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

Cassandra and Solas departed without a backward glance. Next to her, Varric looked at the Seeker and the elf, then at her.

“Well,” he said with a smile. “Bianca’s excited!”

Oh, good for the crossbow, Elissa thought. She wasn’t excited and by all on Thedas, it was a state she desired – ha! Desire to be excited! – more than anything else. With her husband, not for the bloody battle that was sure to follow. She hadn’t seen him at all in more months than she cared to admit and she wanted nothing more than to fall in his arms and forget the world.

Varric followed the two others and Elissa stayed behind, crossing her arms on her chest, tapping the ground with her feet impatiently. Martel regarded her tranquilly from the ground, his nose pointed to the sky and his gaze waiting for her.

She was angry at the situation and the Mark on her hand for throwing her in a desperate mission to save the world. She was angry at her mind, because a Cousland had to do her Duty. She was angry at her heart, for betraying her longing for Alistair in that moment in time of a long and miserable day. More than that, she was angry at herself, because for her to be in a situation like that, it had to be her fault. She was so unlucky and so lucky in her unluckiness, that if she were to ever regain her lost memories, she would remember the disaster she had thrown herself into – she was sure – voluntarily.

Oh, maybe it was for an act of Duty, or Heroism, but she was the one to blame for her misfortune. Cursed the day she was born, she swore under her breath, and the day her parents welcomed her into the world.

She followed the three others, Martel at her heels like he always was, her faithful friend that he was.

The Alistair in her mind tried cheering her with a lame joke, but she laughed nonetheless: a Dwarf, an Elf, two Humans and a Mabari walked into a demons-infested valley…

-£-

It was when they were walking in the valley, her and Martel ahead of her three companions that she remarked mentally on it: they had presented themselves, but they didn’t even ask for her identity or for Martel’s name either. Was she just the bearer of the Mark then? A troublemaker that didn’t deserve the time of the day or to be known by her name?

What was she even going to tell them, when they would inevitably ask? Not the truth, she couldn’t. Nobody even recognized her; she was here incognito for a mission, related to the Warden problem of the moment, of that she was more or less certain. It was maybe for the best that they didn’t ask for her to present herself finally.

On the way to the forward camp, they tried small talk, but she was irritable and didn’t answer their questions, too much upset to be of real help to their queries.

And so, she took her frustration on the demons and spirits they met, bashing her shield in their sides, throwing her sword up their bodies and flesh, slashing and parrying. She could feel a few cuts and bruises on her, a few singed pieces of clothes, but it didn’t stop her, it made her madder.

Oh, how she longed for a bit of heavenly made wine and the snort of laughter of Oghren when he was both drunk and fighting, for the mean sarcasm of Nathaniel when he was in a bad mood and even for Anders with Ser-Pounce-A-Lot and his giddy humor and flirting.

She longed to have Duncan in her arms; she had not even been there when he had turned one year old. The little tyke had to be all grown up now and she couldn’t wait to hold him.

She sighed, then snapped her shield into place on her arm, taking her sword out and with a war cry, she charged the enemy.

-£-

After having to deal with a second rift just before the gate of the forward camp, having to listen to the incessant chatter between Varric and Cassandra and see their duel of glares and having to support Solas’ pompous air and arrogant comments, she was ready to bash their heads together and let them where they would fall in a heap on the ground. She had the impression of being with children and that impression made her angry and depressive, because she wanted to see her own children so much, it hurt.

And so, in such a turbulent mood, she strode through the door, marching down the road as if she owned it all. She had been less than five second in the camp and looking at her surroundings when she heard the argument from a way further. She recognized Leliana’s lilting voice and light accent, but not the male one that was infuriating the Bard.

“We must prepare the soldiers!” Leliana was saying.

“We will do no such things!” responded the male.

His clothing made him a part of the Chantry, but Elissa couldn’t distinguish what his rank – or role or whatever the Chantry had – was. Leliana was standing behind the cleric, her arms crossed and her back pressed against a pole, maintaining the tent upright.

“The prisoner must get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It is our only chance!” Leliana was countering.

Elissa crossed her arms on her chest and watched the duel closely. She might be able to learn more in listening like that, than in politely asking question, because until now, she was always rebuffed.

She was done being the maiden that needed help. One, because she was not a maiden and two, because she didn’t need help. They needed it more than her.

“You have already caused enough trouble without resorting to this exercise in futility,” snarled the Chantry cleric.

“ _I_ have caused trouble?” Leliana growled, incredulous.

Time to make their presence known, then. She strode forward, Varric, Solas and Cassandra surrounding her.

“Ah, here they come,” the cleric was the first to notice them and his unsmiling expression announced nothing good.

“You made it,” Leliana said, relieved. “Chancellor Roderick, this is—”

“I know who she is,” the Chancellor answered.

Elissa raised an eyebrow. Did he, really?

“As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royaux to face execution,” he commanded, turning to look at Cassandra.

Why brought her to Val Royaux to have her executed? Why not kill her now? It would be simpler and would avoid the cost of a journey of such importance. She rolled her eyes. Orlesians.

He didn’t even know her name, but he wanted her dead because of some unfounded belief that she was guilty of the explosion that ravaged the Temple? Did he want to open the hostilities between Orlais and Ferelden? Her people would revolt against them and the Chantry and a new war would begin. She hoped, if it went to that, that the Mabaris were the only victorious. And her family.

Furthermore, this Chancellor and his people didn’t have all the power here, because even if the Conclave was an idea of the Chantry, Haven was in Ferelden and the Crown had the right and the responsibility to know what was happening here. They had, after all, given their – Alistair’s and her’s – agreement to the Leader of the Chantry to host a meeting here. A dangerous one at that, between Templars and Mages. Weren’t they nice?

With her knowledge of important political figures and the political shenanigans in Thedas, she was absolutely sure that nobody else would have agreed to something like that. Orlais was in civil war, the Free Marches were of disparate opinions since Kirkwall explosion, Antiva was too far away and Rivain… well, the Rivanis  didn’t need the Chantry, most of them didn’t even believe in the Chantry and the Maker.

She returned to the conversation taking place.

“Order me?” Cassandra replied. Elissa could see her nose twitching in anger and disgust. “You are a glorified clerk! A bureaucrat!”

“And you are a thug,” Roderick was responding, as if it was something he had always wanted to say, but never had the occasion. “But a thug who, supposedly, served the Chantry.”

Elissa was in her element. If she didn’t thought too hard about her company, her environment and the freezing cold from the air, she would say she was back at Court, listening to the nobles insulting each other with beautifully crafted sentences.

“We served the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know,” Leliana interrupted, her face betraying her grief at the passing of the Divine.

“Justinia is dead!” the Chancellor cried. “We must elect a replacement and obey her orders on the matter.”

“Hey!” she interjected, pointing her index in the direction of the cleric. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here, you pompous ass! Did you try thinking before ordering people around? Because it doesn’t sound like it! It’s why we leave the ordering around to people capable of it and not to those that know nothing of it!”

She did try to stay calm and not to make others look her way, but she was not used to being in her actual situation, that grated on her nerves. Plus, she didn’t like the Chantry. And fools. And Chantry fools were just the cherry on top of the cake. And if she was a hypocrite in it? Well, nobody said anything.

“Arrogant fool,” she muttered.

“You shouldn’t even _be_ here!” Chancellor Roderick yelled back at her.

She raised an uncaring eyebrow, nudging slightly her Mabari that was growling at her feet with her right leg, to make him stop.

Maybe it was Martel, but the cleric stopped screaming and took on a desperate and pleading tone.

“Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

“We can stop this before it’s too late,” Cassandra was encouraging.

The Seeker never had to reassure someone before, she could tell. She was doing such a poor job of it, Elissa wanted to crawl in a hole and wait for the worst to pass.

“How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the Temple, even with all your soldiers,” remarked the man.

On the other hand, the Chancellor was doing such a good job of being a pessimist that she wanted to slap him and make him think before spewing bitter words of helplessness and hopelessness.

“Well, what a pleasant fellow,” Elissa murmured to Martel.

He woofed in response, sitting back on his behind and tilting his head on the side.

“We must get to the Temple. It’s the quickest route,” Cassandra reminded him.

“But not the safest. Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains,” Leliana prompted, indicating with her hand, the snowy mountain seen from afar.

Elissa snorted. Not a chance was she walking that path. She was cold, hungry and angry. She needed to sow destruction on unaware demons, not go on a walking death trap, where she would be miserable. Plus, it wasn’t her style. She was more of the temperament of ‘doing it with style’ charge the enemy in a full frontal assault and giving them what they deserve.

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It is too risky,” the Seeker said, shaking her head.

“Listen to me. Abandon this now before more lives are lost!” Roderick was trying again to be heard.

“What are you?” Elissa finally took a step toward him, letting only the wooden table between him and her, her disbelief coloring her words. “Are you for real? What about the people living here? You’re just going to walk away like that and return to your dear Orlais and Val Royaux, is that it? Away from the chaos means there is no chaos?”

She couldn’t believe his words nor the Orlesians. She had the Blight in her mind for the example of their prudent approach. It was good she had a Court face and knew what was best for Ferelden when interacting with stranger – Orlesians more particularly, because she had less problems with the natives of the other countries – because otherwise, it would be a constant waging of war between the two countries, with words or with weapons. But here, she was unknown; she could say whatever she wanted to say without offending dignitaries and guests invited in the Denerim Palace.

“Orlesians,” she spat with disgust. “Even during the Blight, you were nowhere to be seen. Well, then, let the Fereldens count on themselves and let the Orlesians scurry off without the effort of helping, it’s what they do best after all – both countrymen citied.”

She felt like the silence was ringing in her ears and she saw Leliana watching her, brows pulled in a frown of concentration, like she was trying to recall where she had heard that before. Elissa shook her head in disappointment. Even like that, after a year on the road and countless letters, the Bard didn’t know her. Was she trying this hard to forget her, maybe?

Before anyone could answer her – rightful – words, the rift glowed in the sky and let an arcing bolt of lightning pounding the ground not far from them. As the rift pulsed, her hand frizzled in time with it.

The pain in her hand was less excruciating every time. Was it the power the Mark absorbed or was her body accommodating to the Mark? Whatever the reason, it announced nothing good.

She gripped her left wrist with her right hand and held it, holding it tightly until the aching died away, letting her palm raw and unfeeling in front of her eyes. She could sense the eyes of everyone on her.

“How do _you_ think we should proceed?” asked Cassandra suddenly.

Was the Seeker asking, because she was one of the rulers of Ferelden and they were in Ferelden, or was there another meaning to her question? Or was Elissa searching for hidden agendas, political reasons and manipulations where there were none? She had to have passed too much time with nobles.

“ _Now_ , you’re asking _me_ what I think,” she enunciated, punctuating the valuable words in her statement.

“You have the Mark,” Solas reminded to her.

She rolled her eyes at the elf. Mister Obvious, that one. But it didn’t mean anything in her eyes. Just because someone was holding a cheese didn’t make him a cheese maker. What was wrong with their logic? And why was she comparing it to cheese? Alistair, get out of her mind!

“And you are the one we must keep alive,” the Nevarran agreed with Solas’ statement. “Since we cannot agree on our own…”

It was so nice of her to think like that, Elissa heard her husband say in her head.

“You need a fresh pair of eyes from a prisoner and supposed criminal to make your decisions for you? Aren’t you in charge here?” she demanded, so dryly she wanted to appease her thirst with a tankard of beer.

“You don’t have the rights to—” Roderick began.

“Oh, shut up,” she ordered him.

He shut his mouth in a shocking moment of disbelief that the prisoner cut him off so harshly and shortly. Elissa was dancing in her mental landscape: the Chancellor was mute for the moment. She returned her attention to the Nevarran.

“I say we charge,” she finally decided, raising her head to look at the green rift. “With the way things are, I won’t be there for your trial,” because she would be dead or preparing for war in Denerim, whatever happened first. “Whatever happens, happens now. I want this thing,” she leveled her hand up near her eyes, “gone and I want to be gone. I have things to do, you know.”

“You won’t be—” was saying the Chancellor, again.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up, Chancellor?” Elissa asked in her sweet voice, dripping with false sympathy.

Nobody considered asking her to not be so mean to the cleric. For her, it was simply that everybody had enough of the Chancellor but didn’t have the nerves to shut him up, or they didn’t know what to do with her.

“Leliana,” called Cassandra. “Bring everyone left in the valley,” she commanded. “Everyone.”

The Bard nodded and departed without a word, but with a last glance to her, her eyes always narrowed in concentration. Elissa didn’t meet her glance and began walking away too.

She could sense Martel at her heels and she was torn about what to do with him. He had always been with her, no matter what, no matter where, but she had the urge to let him behind this time.

Her mind made up, she crouched down to confront Martel, a little way further from the group so she could have this conversation in relative peace and not be overheard. Her brave Mabari knew even before she opened her mouth what she would say and he wasn’t happy. He barked imperiously once and glared at her, unimpressed.

“I know you don’t like it,” she told him, her right hand coming to his nose and caressing him. “But you know you have to stay here. If I’m not coming back, Alistair, Hammeral and the children – all of them, yours and mine – will need your help. I can’t trust anyone else with that.”

Martel whined, his head coming to rest on her thigh. She sighed.

“I know. When I’m coming back, you’re going to have the biggest treat of all time, I promise.”

He woofed, licked her hand and returned to the camp, to keep a close eye on the people there – and maybe to ask for something to eat from Mayor Garthol. The poor man could never refuse her Mabari, with his big eyes and doggy grin.

“I never liked it when Hawke talked to his Mabari,” Varric told them, when Martel had disappeared behind a corner and she was again with her companions. “Always gave me shivers when they were having a tête-à-tête: I found it strange that Mabaris were somehow more intelligent than some humans, dwarves and elves.”

“Well,” Elissa remarked gently. “You’re not wrong. The Mabaris are smart and loyal to a fault. To deny them that much is the loss to all but Fereldans. We may be savages to you all, but we are the only one capable of talking to our canines companions.”

She turned to them and eyed them critically.

“You know, it always surprised me to know, see and hear the Orlesians, the Antivans and everyone else say that we, Fereldans, are savages. You, who all were Andrastians even before Ferelden existed. And yet, here you are, claiming Andraste, the Maker’s Bride, to be the one less savage than everyone else. However, she had a Mabari like any other Ferelden. She doesn’t deserve the title of savage, when we deserve it. What did we do for that? Talking to the Mabaris is just another form of communication. Indeed, I’d say we are the one being the more open-minded to be able to talk to them and the less savages.”

She looked to the nearest exit and nodded her head toward it.

“But let’s not talk more about it. I’m sorry; I always tend to go on tangent. Let’s go save the world.”


	4. Haven, or haven’t I? (part 3)

They made their way up the mountain and the camp to come near another gate. Behind it, she could see the glowing light of a rift and she could feel the Mark on her hand vibrating with the presence of it. The soldiers were already overrun.

Without a second thought, she charged in the fray. Battling demons had always been fun for her. Well, not always, but when on the road during the Blight, she had taken what fun and happy times she could, or even made them. Demons, spirits, darkspawn and undead had been a fun lot, compared to the Archdemon or the maneuvers and manipulations of the Ferelden Court. With Oghren and Alistair first, and, surprisingly, Wynne and Zevran secondly, they had taken the game of counting the number of bodies they left behind them for others to care for.

In the present, it was no less different, even if the demon were slightly dissimilar. There was a stick demon she had never seen before, that reminded her of a grasshopper. It seemed to appear and disappear in the ground wherever they were. However, the horror demons were the same, as ugly as always.

As the last demon-stick died in front of her after her deftly placed blow to its head with her shield, the rift began leaking and she recognized the sign of it being ready to be closed. She raised her left hand to it and willed the Mark to pull the power of the rift to her. The same sensation as twice before was there and knowing what it did, she was prepared to erase the Song and bash it with her will, burying it in the deepest recesses of her mind so that she couldn’t even hear the faintest of whispers. But the reality was not that, and as the link between rift and Mark was established, so was the Song. She willed the rift to close before she went insane.

After a maddeningly slow minute, it retracted on itself and disappeared in a flash of light and sound, as it did on the other rifts.

“Sealed, as before,” Solas informed her, coming to her side, a little out of breath. “You are becoming quite proficient at this,” he nodded, approvingly.

Oh, did the elf made a compliment? What a day! And here she thought, nothing could faze her anymore after all this time. She couldn’t be more wrong.

“Let’s hope it works on the big one,” Varric told them, arriving near Solas.

“Lady Cassandra!” a voice called to the Nevarran. “You managed to close the rift. Well done.”

Elissa turned in its direction and a moment of familiarity engulfed her. She knew that voice. She had heard it before.

As the Seeker marched toward a blonde man, she was subjected to a memory of long ago: the Circle of Magi of Ferelden, dominated by demons and undead, mages and apprentices alike torn to bloody pulps on the ground, Templars burned in their armor or being mindless husks obeying the command of demons. One of the only survivors of that disastrous event, the Templar Cullen Rutherford, who underwent torture at the hand of those demons and resisted them with the force of his will.

She knew the man had been in Kirkwall for a time, as Alistair had told her so, but to see him again on Ferelden soil, even if it was for the Conclave, brought her the same feeling every time a Ferelden migrant returned to his country after running from the Blight.

“Do not congratulate me, Commander,” Cassandra replied to the Templar.

Commander? The man was a Knight-Commander now? Even with the Templars in disarray, there was an Order still? Oh, well, too bad.

“This is the… this person’s… doing,” the Nevarran said, only stumbling a little over the proper form of address for her.

Elissa smiled a little and with a respectful nod of her head, greeted the Commander.

“Is it?” he asked, a little brusquely. “I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.”

“You’re not the only one hoping that,” she told in her deadpan tone of voice.

Did he try to make her feel worse for this loss of life of was he that sort of man that couldn’t care less about being polite, when his attention was better served elsewhere? She hoped it was the second.

“We’ll see soon enough, won’t we?” he was replying, slowly, judging her and her words carefully. He returned his attention to Cassandra. “The way to the Temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

“Then we’d best move quickly. Give us time, Commander,” ordered the Seeker.

“Maker watch over you—for all our sakes,” the Commander prayed.

Without another word, he was running behind them and helping a hurt soldier on the way out. Elissa followed his movements with her eyes, reminiscing about the years past and concluding the man he had been wasn’t the same as the one he was now. She could see that much indeed.

The four of them, now alone, continued on their path, following the devastation.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas sighed in a sort of sad voice.

She had the suspicion he was sorrier for the Temple than he was for the lives lost.

“Or what’s left of it,” murmured Varric.

“That… is where you walked out of the Fade,” Cassandra explained, making her blood freeze in her veins. “And our soldiers found you. They say a woman was in the rift, behind you. No one knows who she was.”

She was left speechless for a moment, suddenly seeing and understanding the magnitude of the event she had been in the middle of.

“Oh well,” she said evenly, after having stopped to reorganize her thoughts and to deal with her feelings – or bury them for the time being. “I personally think the Temple is better like that.”

She could nearly hear and feel the horror dawning on Cassandra’s face for professing such grand statement, for being so revoltingly insensitive.

“I saw the Temple in all manners of repairs and disrepairs, you know,” Elissa continued, like nothing happened like the dead silence that followed her first declaration. “I can’t say I cared much for it, what with finding near-death experiences each time I was there. If Andraste was resting in this place, she couldn’t care less about me. Or she didn’t like me at all and wanted me very dead. I don’t really know.”

She turned toward the Seeker, locking her deadly serious gaze with her own.

“And I don’t really care nor want to know. What I care about, is the loss of lives this Temple brought forth each time something happened here. So, no, I don’t think the Temple is a loss. I think the lives lost are all there is about.”

She looked to the devastated landscape around her, took in the charred flesh, the grossly made forms of humans, now only piles of flesh and bones. She looked beyond that, to the greenish rift that pulsed in the sky. She took in the scale of the wreckage and wondered again how she could have been saved and in one piece, when all the rest was not. Was her life worth that much?

“And,” she would make Cassandra understand her views on this, even if the Seeker couldn’t share them. “If you tell me that the Chantry would have preferred to have the Temple intact, instead of the people, then, you can join you Chantry clerks and bureaucrats immediately and help them, as I would not need you.”

She advanced toward the Nevarran, until she stood in front of her, toe to toe.

“And if you tell me that Andraste herself would have preferred her Temple to stay in one piece when it is an insult to people lives, I will mock your Chantry for the rest of mine. Did you know, counting ten years in the past until now, that this Temple is one of the deadliest distraction there is on Thedas?”

When she saw Cassandra opening her mouth, she shook her head.

“No, don’t speak. But if you’re interested in learning more, you know who to talk to.”

Her speech given, she headed for the opening in one of the few still standing walls and continued on her way, letting the others behind to follow her or not.

For her, she had a Duty to fulfill and she would see it done or she was not a Cousland.

-£-

Flames were still dancing merrily in some parts of the ruins, crackling against the still air of the frozen mountains. Bodies littered the floor, unrecognizable, only flesh and grimace to make them seemed humans.

As she walked calmly, the green sparkle of the first rift came to her eyes. It was like a great shadow over the Temple and a frisson overcame her body at the feeling of danger. The sound it emitted was that of a restrained storm, beautiful in its lightning show, but deadly in its intensity. She had the same feeling as she regarded the rift.

“The Breach is a long way up,” stated Varric, looking around.

Yup, she couldn’t agree more and she didn’t know how they imagined she could close it. She couldn’t fly, didn’t they know that?

“You’re here!” From behind her, Leliana came with her own soldiers. “Thank the Maker.”

Elissa noticed the Bard had taken her beautifully crafted bow with her and a handful of arrows of the same caliber.

“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the Temple,” ordered the Seeker to the Bard.

The Bard nodded once and retreated to command her soldiers, as Cassandra returned to her side.

“This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

“No. And I cannot fly, just so you know,” she responded, crossing her arms on her chest and sneering a little. “I cannot go up there.”

“No,” said Solas. “This rift was the first and it is the key. Seal it and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

“Then, let’s find a way down. And be careful,” warned Cassandra.

Elissa glanced at the rift, then at the Breach a last time, both of them casting green light and shadows on their faces, making the scene look more harrowing.

They began their trek toward the ground and the first rift, a level or two down, taking a flight of stairs on their right. They would try for a safe way down by looking around.

 “ ** _Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice_** _.”_

The voice was so sudden; she halted in her track, looking everywhere to try to localize its point of origin. The voice had a quality of meanness to it; it sent chills up her arms and back. That voice had deadpan down to a tee.

“What are we hearing?” asked Cassandra, tensing involuntarily at hearing the baritones of that voice.

“At a guess?” Solas answered. “The person who created the Breach.”

Yes, Elissa could have come to that conclusion herself. There was just something so mean, so unpleasant and so despicable to it.

And then, that was when she sensed it.

Some way forward, she could sense something she hadn’t sensed since her departure from her Wardens. She was sure there wasn’t a Warden here. It meant that something nastier was here and she was the best one to deal with it. With a grim face, she took her sword in hand and advanced toward where her Warden sense was telling her to look for.

“What are you doing?” Cassandra asked, her hand on her hilt, alert and looking around. “Is there danger?”

“Yes,” Elissa replied curtly. “Now, hush, I need to concentrate.”

The tingling sense she got back from these darkspawns was strange. She had never sense anything like it before. What was it? A new sort of darkspawn? Was it even possible? She thought she had met her fair share of darkspawns, more than the normal Warden – what with meeting broodmothers and the Architect and even an Archdemon – and she never got back the sensations she was getting now.

“Concentrate?” Varric said in dubious belief. “You need to concentrate for—oh, is it some sort of Super Power from the Mark, maybe?”

No. “Yes,” she answered. She would not tell him the truth. For now, she was just an unknown someone trying to do her best.

She was advancing, slowly, but with purpose in her every step. And here she thought the soldiers of Knight-Commander Rutherford had things – meaning, demons and enemies – under control. It was why she didn’t like delegating such important tasks.

She mentally sighed and hit herself. She was unjust toward the Commander and his soldiers, she knew. They were doing their best, but she had had a miserable day and was in no way better than she had been, when she first came to her senses, after a long nap, without knowing anything about the why and what and how and when.

“What are we looking for?” Solas demanded, his voice whispered.

“I don’t know yet. I will tell you when I find it.”

She concentrated on her Warden sense, following the answering pulse from her blood. There, just around the corner, they were hidden, certainly trying to surprise them with a trap.

She turned the corner, arms held at the ready, and found herself face to face with… a red crystal and not any darkspawn like her sense had told her. Puzzled, she looked at it from all angles, trying to find a darkspawn, which was maybe hidden behind or under it, but she didn’t find anything. Nevertheless, it was that crystal that gave off the faint call to her blood, warning her of the presence of darkspawn and their tainted blood.

She stood in front of the crystal and stayed there. She could hear her three companions behind her.

“You know this stuff is Red Lyrium, Seeker,” the grave and disbelieving tone of Varric made her listen to their conversation.

“I see it, Varric,” agreed Cassandra.

Lyrium? It couldn’t be lyrium! This thing was red and tainted.

“But what’s it doing here?” demanded the dwarf.

Something in his voice spoke to her: the tightly clenched anger and horror barely held from destroying his entourage by its devastating violence.

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the Temple, corrupted it,” Solas explained.

The elf couldn’t be more right if he tried. That thing was tainted, corrupted by the sickness of the Blight, as she was. That brought forward more questions, as if she hadn’t already enough with no answers. She had thought Blight Sickness could only be contracted by living beings, the soil notwithstanding. If crystals could succumb to it… she didn’t really know what it could mean, but she knew it was nothing good.

“It’s evil. Whatever you do, don’t touch it!” Varric told them, pressing into them the urgency of his words.

She had to nod, but she couldn’t move, even if she tried.

“Are you alright?” demanded Cassandra, coming near her.

“I don’t know,” she replied, distracted by the faint call the crystal emitted.

Maybe she could try to send a sample to Avernus. She was sure the mage could come up with something. And if it could brought another point of view and other research materials to end the Wardens’ Curse, she was all for it.

All she knew about lyrium, was that it had to be treated before being ready for consumption and that you couldn’t touch it with your bare hand. It was dangerous.

“I need a sample,” she said suddenly.

There was a few seconds of silence.

“Are you mad?” exclaimed Varric, louder than Cassandra was. “I just told you not to approach it! It’s dangerous! I saw its effect on people!”

“Yes, they had to behave erratically, I would wager and when enough time had passed, they just wanted to hunt things down and kill whoever was on their passage,” she guessed, her gaze never wavering from the crystals.

The dwarf was without an answer for a blessed few seconds.

“Well, you have that down to a pat,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “Might I know how you know that?” he enquired, but she knew if he was of the temperament of Cassandra, he would be ordering, not enquiring.

“Yes, you know of this corruption?” Solas asked, his eyes narrowed and his eyebrows frowning.

When she turned around, she was the receiver of two very intent gazes from Solas and Varric. From Cassandra, she received only a thoughtful one, but the Nevarran didn’t ask nor command her to share her knowledge.

“I know of it. I know it,” she answered, directing her response to the two males. “I know it very well, indeed,” she was saying, her tone grim.

“Well?” Varric encouraged, trying his best to be patient, but his tone was betraying his sentiment.

“I am a Warden. Greetings,” she made a short bow.

The dwarf and the elf were watching her with renewed interest and more questions she was sure.

“This lyrium is exactly that,” she told them. “Corrupted. Tainted. It’s the Blight Sickness.”

“The _Blight Sickness_?” the Storyteller exclaimed in disbelief and horror. “There is no Darkspawn here! And no Blight!”

“ _I_ am here, and there is no Blight indeed. Wardens exist outside of the Blight, you know, as are the darkspawn and the Blight Sickness they carry.”

“Lyrium cannot be corrupted by a living sickness,” Solas told her shortly.

“Well,” she retorted, curtly too. “I don’t know anything about lyrium, but I know a great deal about Blight Sickness, and _that_ ,” she pointed to the Red Lyrium growing from the walls and the rocky outcrops of the mountains, “is tainted by the Blight. I know it. I _feel_ it. Why do you think I took my weapons out? To wave it in the air to make the rift disappear from fright? Or maybe to be prepared for an attack by darkspawn, because I could sense them?” She paused to regain her breath. “And this Sickness can affect the soil, not only the living. The Anderfels are proofs of that. The Korkari Wilds are proof of that.”

“But there is no darkspawn here,” Cassandra stated.

“No,” Elissa agreed, turning to look at them. “Only lyrium, with the same feel that I have when near darkspawn. So yes, I _can_ tell you it is tainted with Blight Sickness.”

The silence and the looks they shared were heavy with so many questions and desire to know more that they stood still and waited for this moment to pass.

Elissa regained her equilibrium rapidly. She gathered her wits about her and put her sword back at her belt.

“We have to go, we can ask question later. And take samples.”

She departed without her escort. They would follow eventually.

-£-

They were finally on the same level as the rift. It had a menacing presence, even without all the crackling and fuzzing the other rifts had been doing.

However, the voice reverberating around them was still there.

“ ** _Keep the sacrifice still_**.”

“ _Someone help me!_ ”

The second voice was new, feminine and in clear distress. It pulled a chord in Elissa’s heart as it was beating frantically against her ribcage.

The Mark on her left palm gave a bright glow when they approached the rift. It was pulsing in time with it, crackling with energy.

“ _Someone, help me!_ ” came the second voice again.

“ _What do you think you’re doing, you disgusting piece of crap?_ ” It was a third voice.

Holy Mabari, the third voice was her own voice! It was something, to hear herself, when she wasn’t the one to talk.

“That was your voice! Most Holy called out to you, but—”

The rift began to frizzle anew, cutting Cassandra in her realizations. From it, a dark shadow grew, and then, the light illuminated all, blindingly bright, making her shut her eyes against this much brightness.

When she looked up again, an image was there instead of the shadow, like a moving painting. Or a memory, she understood seconds before she saw her image-self entering the picture, worn, weary and bloody but battle ready, with her sword and her shield held in front of her.

What the—she cursed in her head, eyes wide in disbelief.

It was normal nobody recognized her, she thought agitatedly watching the memory of what happened before the sky was torn asunder. She was blonde! And what had she done to her eyes? They were as amber as those of Alistair! She wanted to reach to her hairs pulled in a tight ponytail on her head and see them for herself, but she was holding her sword and shield in each hands. What was that disguise? Was it an illusion brought on by one of her Warden-Mage? Or did she really change her coloring to not match her own colors? Where were her flowing black mane and green eyes like pure jade?

Entranced, she watched the memory play.

_“Oh. And here I thought I was too late for the festivities. What do you think you’re doing, you disgusting piece of crap?”_

_“Run while you can! Warn them!” cried the Divine, held magically in the air by the creature_

_The creature was looking fiercely terrible and dark._

_“ **We have an intruder.”** It declared, before pointing a long and clawed finger in the direction of her image-self. **“Kill her. Now**.”_

The light came again and she shielded her eyes by turning her head, her left hand and arm in front of her, trying to keep the intense white glow from blinding her.

When she looked up again, there was nothing left of the memory, just the rift and its hissing sound.

“You _were_ there!” Cassandra said, raging in her unanswered questions. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she… Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

Elissa had had it with being walked on by the Lady Cassandra, the Seeker and the Right Hand of the Divine. She stood before the Nevarran, conveying to her without a word that her intimidating technique was not having an effect on her.

“I don’t. Remember,” she gritted between her clenched teeth.

The two women glared at each other, none backing down from the other.

“Echoes of what happened here,” Solas was explaining in its calm but sad manner. “The Fade bleeds with this.”

When they came near him, he regained his more familiar voice.

“This rift is not sealed, but it is closed. Albeit temporarily. I believe that with the Mark, the rift can be opened. And then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

Cassandra understood immediately.

“That means demons!” she cried in a powerful voice. “Stand ready!”

The soldiers were taking their place, drawing their swords, pulling their bows from their backs. Once everyone was in place, they signaled and Cassandra nodded, coming near her. The Seeker drew her weapon and shield herself, preparing for the incoming disaster that Elissa could feel coming closer.

From the corner of her eyes, she could see Leliana taking position at the back, her bow ready with an arrow already nocked back to shoot the enemy.

Raising her left arms to the rift in the air, she willed it to open.

The Mark glowed and the link was created, but instead of the powerful pull she could sense usually, it was a push, from her hand to the rift. The Song was here, always, but less loud, as if giving, from her mind to the rift, was a way to force it down. A part of her wondered what price it would take to silence the Calling forever from her mind. The price would certainly _be_ her mind.

For seconds, she sensed the rift taking and taking from her, seemingly without stopping, until it did. The outward explosion threw her on the ground.

Disoriented, she blinked rapidly, squashing the Song again at the back of her mind. Around her, she could hear the fighting starting. When she looked up and saw a pride demon, she took a second to consider napping in the middle of the battlefield and then decided it wasn’t worth it, because she could end squished to death under one big foot. It wasn’t the glorious end she was waiting for.

“Now!” shouted Cassandra.

The whizzing of arrows answered the order of the Seeker. And then, the battle was really starting.

-£-

The first thing she did after the Pride Demon appeared, was run behind a corner and inhaled as much air as she needed for her body to function. She wasn’t panicking, she was strategizing. Or maybe, just keeping her distance for a few seconds, waiting for her hands to not be so numb and her head to not be so scrambled.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t do anything for her head. She was hearing the Song nearly all the time now, and it wasn’t a good sign. It didn’t mean she was stopping to hope about a remedy, but sometimes, she was listening more than she was supposed to. It was alarming, but she couldn’t do anything about it now.

It was in that thought in mind, that she charged the enemy. Pride Demons had always been one of the demons she particularly hated. They were awful. They were always laughing, even when they were going to die a gruesome death. They were always ugly. They were more powerful every time she met one of them.

This one was terrifying in its madness and taller than the few she had met: it was whipping the air with lighting, laughing and growling for every breath she drew.

With a war cry, she rounded her corner and charged the enemy. He heard her before she could even strike a hit on its legs. With a fast move, the demon whipped the air where she was running. With fast reflexes, she rolled out of the way, only feeling the humming of electricity on her back. She might have been fried with that one! That made her angry. She didn’t even thought about it; she just used her knowledge of Templars and their ways of making magic void in the area for her next move. The whips extinguished with a static sound and she used that momentum to hit its legs with her sword and bash her shield in the wound she just opened.

“We must strip its defenses! Wear it down!” Cassandra cried somewhere behind her.

Well, what was she doing, thought Elissa bitterly? Playing poker by Antivan rules? She was trying to wear it down! Did she have to remind them of it? It wasn’t as if they were unaware of the danger the demon posed!

In a fit of rage, she threw her left hand, palm exposed first, at the rift, trying in a desperate move, to make it call back the demon to trap them in the Fade again. When the next sensation began, she jolted upward and froze in the same instant. Her hand was tingling and the feeling was the same as when she closed the rift, but different somehow. She couldn’t say how, she just knew it was different.

“More coming though the rift!” the Seeker yelled yet again.

And she was right. Falling in a display of green lightning, horrors began to swarm the combatants. Well, Elissa thought at the same time as she ran her sword through one, they have better strategies than when she first had fought them.

The next minutes were of chaos, fighting and death. She could hear the arrows lodging themselves into the demon, she could hear the humming of magic in the air, telling of a spell passing by her and toward the demon and horrors. She could even feel it in the air, the telltale sign that her role was fast approaching.

She couldn’t be more right.

As the Pride Demon finally fell on its knees, it disappeared in a show of green lights toward the rift. Without anyone telling her, she knew instantly what she had to do.

“Now!” yelled the Nevarran. “Do it!”

Marching toward the rift, Elissa raised her hand and let the power flow.

In a swelling of sound and feeling of completeness, the Song was here, accompanying her in that moment in time, telling her to keep going and to go—

She cried out loud, her hand burning, the light scalding her open eyes and open palm and—

She felt the powerful wind that knocked her out and threw her away from the rift. She didn’t have time to think of something, before she was out.

Then, it was only darkness.


	5. Hero, Herald... Whatever (part 1)

She had been asleep – or unconscious, whatever, both of them were problematic to her – for days on end, that much she could tell. She needed fresh air and a diner. A big one. Her body as a Warden needed to remake its stamina by indulging in nourishment and her stomach agreed to that. She was famished.

Unfortunately for her plan, once she put a foot outside the house in which she had been asleep and saw the gaggle of people outside, all wearing hope and pride and gratefulness on their faces and standing proud and at attention and in silence, she scoffed, turned on her feet and closed the door behind her. She was so much more tranquil inside with no one to look at her after they all wanted her dead.

She heaved a deep sigh as she realized she wouldn’t be in the fresh air of the outside nor would she be receiving a meal anytime soon. What a great beginning for her day and a great disaster for her spirits.

Even after all these years, after all her life living like that, she couldn’t understand it, the way the people thought one thing one moment and the next, thought the opposite. It was confusing and hard to follow.

In her father’s lands – her brother’s now – everyone knew to stay loyal to the Cousland, because they knew the Cousland would always be there for them. In the end, they proved their worthiness: Fergus resurrected from the believed-dead to regain the teyrnir and she put a stop to the Blight, which had ravaged the country, put a King on the throne – one of Calenhad descendant no less – and put herself on the throne, because she knew a Cousland could only be the best thing to happen, after the other teyrnir of Gwaren had fallen under the shameful farce of a reign that Teyrn Loghain had been the instigator of.

As she saw it, they could all go and search for another hero, in this day and age. She was done. She had her own life to consider now, her family and a country. She didn’t want a world, a country was already so difficult to govern, more so a recent one like Ferelden was, with only four hundred years to distinguish them between tribes of savages and civilized people.

The rustle of clothes and armors grew in intensity outside her door and she could hear the murmurs beginning to rise and hurried footsteps going away, certainly to tell the Lady Cassandra of her awakening – and her refusal to go out.

She busied herself with preparing tea she found while they went in search of the Nevarran. Nothing was as relaxing as the everyday task of making tea. It was a soothing action that she employed, when her duties of Queen or Warden-Commander were taxing, or when one of her children had a nightmare and couldn’t sleep anymore.

The heavy crunching of freezing snow by metal boots outside was the only indication of a person approaching the cottage. She brought the tea to the table and sat herself, waiting for the door to open. She didn’t wait for long.

There was a fast knock on the wooden door, before said door opened and Lady Cassandra, Leliana and Chancellor Roderick entered without an invitation.

Elissa raised a brow and kept her amber gaze locked on them. It was her Court face, betraying no emotion or thoughts. It was her gaze, she had been told, that frightened servants and Courtiers alike. The Chancellor faltered in his step, but not the two Ladies.

“Oh please, enter my humble abode, it is not as if I was naked or naked _and_ with someone else,” she said.

“Your sarcastic wit won’t save you!” the Chantry clerk cried. “Guards, arrest her!” he ordered two guardsmen, who were waiting at the doors.

“Belay that order and leave us,” Cassandra demanded instead.

The guards obeyed the Nevarran and not the Chancellor of the Chantry, the tactician in her noticed, storing the information somewhere in her head for later use. It was good to know, Elissa thought.

“Well, why don’t you take a place at the table? It is good manner to do so,” she invited them.

“I won’t have a tea party with a criminal!” the Chancellor exclaimed.

“Then, Chancellor,” Leliana cut in the discussion. “You can be reassured that this woman is no criminal.”

“You can’t decide that!” he retaliated, indignation in all his movements and tone.

“I can and I just did, Chancellor,” she responded, calm as the surface of a lake in a still day in summer. “And if you want to avoid more scrutiny from us, you will take a stroll outside and not come back.”

He spluttered and Cassandra shoved him outside the door before closing it in his face. The satisfaction she felt as she did that was palpable from where Elissa sat.

Then, Cassandra and Leliana stood before her and watched her, watched the way she was dressed, the way she drank her tea and the way she was not showing any emotion other than simple amusement. The two women weren’t saying anything, they were just analyzing her and pondering on what her presence meant, she realized after an instant. She was a known story, who became an unknown in the years past.

“Elissa? Is that really you?”

The question was from the Bard, but the tone she used was from a time past, when Leliana had been fresh from the Chantry and she believed in innocence and beauty and a rose growing from a dead rosebush. It was when she had been a Sister more than a Bard and she could smile and joke and share in the little joys they found on the road. It was a question tainted with want and disbelief and faith, but also brittle joy coated by a layer of anxiety. It was like a desperate cry for help and ‘please, let this be real’ and Elissa was chagrined to see her dear friend reduced to that shell.

“Hey, Leli,” she answered with a small smile on her face, her gaze locked on the Bard.

Leliana stood motionless for an instant before she lunged for Elissa to hug her as if there was no tomorrow. She had stood up just in time to receive the redhead in her arms and she answered in kind, her throat constricted by different emotions.

“I searched everywhere for you, when we needed you,” Leliana sighed, her mouth muffled by the fabric of Elissa’s clothes. “And here you are, when I stopped trying, when I stopped believing. It is a sign of the Maker.”

Elissa extirpated herself from the hug and gazed at her friend, an ironic smile on her lips and her eyes glassed with tears that would not fall.

“You know what I think about signs of the Maker, Leli,” she said, because a rose was one thing, the Mark was another entirely.

A laugh escaped the Bard and she retreated from Elissa, returning to a place next to the door and composing herself after her outburst of feelings.

Elissa watched this proceeding with growing agitation. Something was not right with Leliana and she would go to the bottom of the matter when the time was right.

Regaining a foothold of her emotions herself, she sat on the chair and took a sip of her hot tea.

“Well, you wanted to see me and here I am,” she began. “I suppose that the rift is closed but even with that, I can’t return to what I was doing before.” Not that she knew what she was doing before.

The grim face of Cassandra was all the response she needed. She nodded to herself.

“Yes, I would imagine,” she raised her hand at eye-level and watched the Mark, “that that Mark is important and I can’t let you have it without cutting my hand. We don’t even know if cutting my hand would work. Hm.”

“We know you didn’t do anything to the Divine or to the Chantry, but we don’t know what you were doing in Haven. Our agents were trying to search for you everywhere,” informed Cassandra.

Elissa raised an eyebrow.

“Did you try Denerim? I’m there most of the time. As for the rest, I don’t know what I was doing.”

“Yes, of course, we even tried asking King Alistair for information, but… he wasn’t very forthcoming with it,” informed Cassandra.

“What she means,” Leliana explained to her. “Is that Alistair found a number of choice words for our agents, before excusing himself and dismissing them with a load of cheese.”

Yes, that seemed like her husband alright. She would have wanted to have seen that scene. It would have been epic. The people not used to this kind of attitude were put off by Alistair, which was why the man was doing it in the first place, but those of the Palace who knew him didn’t even bat an eyelash anymore when confronted by the King. Alistair always pouted when that happened. And it was worse with Teagan. The Arl knew what button to push and what to say to make Alistair cave or to make him see reason and her husband was always complaining about it afterwards.

“I hope it was a good cheese,” she supplied to the women standing before her. “No more reason to send agents to Alistair then, as I am here. Why did you want to see me, exactly?” she asked.

“We need to restore Order and have peace in Thedas. We need to find those responsible for the Divine’s death and the explosion at the Conclave,” said Cassandra in a matter-of-fact tone. “Divine Justinia had the right idea for that: she wanted to make the Inquisition alive again.”

The Seeker put a book on the table. It was decorated with a stylized mark on its cover, looking like an eye. She had been transporting it and Elissa hadn’t even seen it before it was in front of her. Was she so distracted to not pay attention to her surroundings? Was she missing something else? She eyed the cover carefully. The sign on it was made her thoughts process screeched to a halt, when she suddenly understood its meaning.

“The Inquisition?” she questioned with a penetrating air on her face. “Do you mean to say… the Order of old, which had a lot of power on Thedas? In South Thedas I mean, where the Chantry’s hold is more important.”

“Yes,” Leliana confirmed.

Elissa was not sure how to react to that. Her body froze, but her mind was awash with more scenario than she cared to admit or comprehend.

“And what about me?” she finally demanded, tense all of a sudden. “Why did you want to contact me for that?”

“You’re the Hero of Ferelden,” Cassandra answered and didn’t say anything more, like being the Hero was all she needed for a reason.

“And…?” she encouraged, not satisfied.

“We – well, more I, really – thought that you would be the ideal person to be the Inquisitor.”

It was Leliana who had explained. When Elissa turned her gaze on her, the Bard had a look of pleading and defiance in her expression. She didn’t understand why.

“The Inquisitor,” she repeated in a wooden tone. “And you didn’t think that maybe, I wouldn’t want that? I don’t know if you’re being kept informed of what is happening in Thedas, but I am the Queen of Ferelden and I have a country to manage. More than that, I have the Wardens to direct in Ferelden and last but not least, I have a family and a King to keep satisfied. Where do you think I could put the time to fill the role of the Inquisitor? And I don’t want to.”

She could tell that Leliana was hurt by her words. She didn’t understand why, what she said was only the truth and there were a number of people who could be a better Inquisitor than her. Not a lot, because to be a good Inquisitor, with so much power, that person had to be intelligent, smart and inherently good to want to restore Order and not condemn the world to its destruction and enslave the people.

Okay, as a matter of fact, she didn’t know one person who could do that. Everyone would have ulterior motives, including her.

More than that, she wasn’t sure of the efficacy of an Inquisition in such hard times. She understood the need for peace and cease-fire better than anyone; after all, her husband’s family – Teagan – had been evicted recently from their own home and lands because of that, but she didn’t deem it a real necessity. It was adding another player in the power play of Thedas and would bring more confusion than peace.

“We thought of someone else too, if we couldn’t find you,” added Cassandra, when the silence became uncomfortable.

“Oh?” Elissa was intrigued now. “And who is that person?”

“The Champion of Kirkwall.”

Elissa laughed.

Cassandra and Leliana exchanged a glance, both their faces expressing their disapproving of her reaction.

“You didn’t want an Inquisitor,” she realized between guffaws. “You wanted someone known everywhere to put more weight in the Inquisition! Well, I have news for you: it doesn’t happen like that. What do you think? That we would be puppets to be manipulated by the two of you?”

Leliana was frowning, but Cassandra, for once, was like a marble stone statue, stiff and frozen in a non-expression. Elissa wanted to congratulate her on her unexpected and swift skill of non-communication and Court face.

“No, we didn’t want – we do not want – something like that,” the Seeker attempted to explain.

“That is the past now and events have changed things,” Leliana sharply cut. “You have the Mark, you have to be in the Inquisition, be it as the Inquisitor or not.”

Elissa turned her head abruptly in Leliana’s direction.

“So I don’t have a choice, is that it? What do you take me for? Do you think I learned to be a puppet these past few years, Leliana? Do you think the Crown of Ferelden has a master somewhere?”

“There is a Breach between us and demons, linking their world to our own,” the Bard answered. “So, no, I believe you really don’t have a choice.”

“If you wanted to convince me, you would play the caring friend card, Leliana, as you have in the past. But I understand it is a faraway and forgotten past for you, my very Orlesian friend,” she voiced in a flat tone. “To use that argument brings you no favor from me.”

And certainly no favor from Leliana, because she was sure that the Bard remembered that to be treated Orlesian by Elissa was as insulting as being compared to Rendon Howe.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, rattling her lungs and airways, and then, re-arranged her features in a relaxed position and attempted to calm her mind. She didn’t offer the Seeker or the Bard a seat anymore as they stood in front of her, as rigid as Alistair when he had first learned to dance.

“If you want to open the Inquisition, I can’t say anything; it is in your power. But if you want an Inquisitor, I won’t be it. More than that, the only advice I can share with you is that you have to think very carefully for the figurehead you want as the Inquisitor. Hard choices will be made, politics will have an important role and peace is the wanted end game. Don’t destroy Thedas when you bring in a puppet Inquisitor.”

The silence was drumming in her ear; or maybe it was her blood pounding in her head, making her headache annoyingly painful.

“But,” she continued. “If you do indeed come closer to destroying Thedas, I think the countries could rally under the same banner to destroy the Inquisition. _That_ would be a good cause for peace between everyone. So. My suggestion is: become an ally to everyone, or become the enemy of everyone. Your choice.”

She rose from her chair, opened the door and went out, ignoring everyone and everything, completely overlooking the cheers from the villagers and soldiers of the Chantry when she took her first step outside.

-£-

“Cassandra declared the Inquisition open.”

She looked to her left and saw Leliana approaching her. Her features were hard and unforgiving, totally different from the memories Elissa had of her friend. It was as if she didn’t know her at all anymore. What happened to the sweet and caring Orlesian friend she had ten years ago?

“Okay,” she responded and returned to her meditation.

The air was freezing and the sky was gray, filled with heavy clouds. The landscape was entirely white, under a cover of snow and ice.

“I never thought you would turn down that offer, Elissa.”

She inhaled harshly and refused to look in the Bard’s direction.

“If that is so, you don’t remember me very well, dear friend,” she answered back cuttingly. “I never thought you would turn so uncaring and unfeeling, Leliana. I thought being a part of the Chantry made you better than being a Bard. Evidently, I thought wrong, because being a part of the Chantry, made you a better assassin than a Bard could ever hope to be. The Chantry, preaching to everyone who would listen, that caring and feeling for everyone is the Maker’s Will…” She scoffed. “What hypocrites.”

She snorted humorlessly, thinking of the Chantry and its hold on Thedas. It was the Chantry that had the real power on the world, not some king or empress or prince or else.

“Look at what the Chantry does: it has the Templars too drugged up to think clearly, total control over them. It has the Mages prisoners in gilded cages, otherwise known as Circles, restricting their lives so completely that they are less than human or elf. Total control over them too.”

She rose from her seat on a hard and sharp gray rock where the snow had melted and turned to face Leliana.

“And look at you. It has total control over its Sisters, ordering them to lose their compassion, ordering them to think of the Templars as slaves and the Mages as demons and abominations.”

She nodded to the sky and the green taint of the Breach, which had stopped growing after their stunt with the Mark.

“Look at that. You think demons and angry spirits are the only problem here? Our entire society is the problem. Look to the Templars. Look to the Mages. Look to the Sisters. Without the Chantry, they are incapable of thinking by themselves. They are incapable of surviving by themselves. You think the Templars and the Mage’s Rebellion is the real problem here? What happens after your Inquisition put a stop to it? The Circles are back? The Mages are behind golden bars again? Well then, the Rebellion will continue, be certain of that.”

“The Chantry is not like that,” Leliana snarled, her teeth gleaming under the weak rays of the sun, which had pierced the clouds. “It is the Maker—”

“The Chantry is like that, Leliana! You just refuse to admit it, because for that, you have to put all your life under question!”

She exhaled noisily and inspired rapidly.

“I never said anything against your Maker. If there is a God or a creature of Divine Might, you think, as mortals as we are, that we can transcribe Its Will with fidelity? Comprehend It in all Its complexities and intricacies? Isn’t that how the Blights started, with mortals too prideful for their own good?”

“You’re saying I do not follow the right path?” exclaimed the Bard in utter shock and anger.

“I’m saying there is no right path to the Maker. There is only us and this world and if you want to follow a ‘right path’, you have to make it for us, mortals. How do you think to accomplish anything if you claim to do it for peace in Thedas and the inhabitants, but you don’t think of them when you do it? That just makes you a dictator, supposedly serving a ‘grand purpose’, but only serving your own.”

She laughed, relaxing the tight grip her hands had on her arms.

“That is the reason why your Inquisition will not work if you bring in a puppet or do not choose a good person as the Inquisitor.”

Leliana was shaking her head from left to right and watching her with eyes that spoke of sadness and resentment and a whole lot other emotions on which Elissa couldn’t properly put a name on.

“I don’t know you anymore, Elissa,” the Bard said, at last.

They could at least acquiesced on that one thing, she mentally remarked before walking away from old friendship and an uncertain future and toward the comfort and safety a lit fire in the hearth of her temporary home could offer.

-£-

“Oh, if it isn’t our very own daring companion!” exclaimed a voice somewhere on her right.

She looked in that direction, but couldn’t properly see. Her vision kept blurring and fading and she couldn’t do anything to make it better. She narrowed her eyes, strained to look more closely, made out that a shape was walking toward her, but soon stopped trying and returned to her tankard of mead to take a long sip.

The shape plopped itself on the barstool next to her. She didn’t bother welcoming it.

“Oh, I see how it is,” the shape said.

She knew that voice from somewhere. When she turned her gaze on her right, she instantly recognized the dwarf, Varric.

“So,” he said. “Don’t want some company?”

She shrugged, totally indifferent. If he wanted to stay, he could, but he couldn’t take away her alcohol. She wanted to keep it close to her. It was the only stress-free activity she had thought of that night. It was a blessed relief from her thoughts and her mind, dulling it to the point of the Song being nearly non-existent and her past being only that, a past and not a constant reminder of her present.

Unfortunately, the dwarf was not finished with her and it was with a quirked eyebrow that she observed him carefully, her tankard between her hands, as he continued to speak.

“I may have inadvertently,” here, Elissa snorted. Inadvertently, what a whole bunch of crap. “heard the conversation between the Seeker, the Spymaster and you.”

“Okay,” she responded, because she didn’t know what else to say.

“Your Majesty,” he whispered theatrically.

She spat the sip of mead she just took and coughed to clear her burning throat. One of the large hands of Varric hit her back gently, before she could breathe more easily.

“You want something?” she rasped with her sore throat.

“Want something?” he repeated with a smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well, of course I want something. Everybody wants something.”

She sighed. “You know what I mean,” she said and drank the rest of her tankard in one gulp.

“The rights to your story, when all this,” he waved a hand in the air, encompassing the environment around them, “is done and we can spend the rest of our lives sitting in front of a fire and read books to kids.”

“And what does that give me in exchange?” she inquired, looking at the bottom of her empty chop.

She signaled the shy and pretty bartender for another pint to refill her tankard, while Varric ordered the same thing. She drank calmly, waiting for the dwarf to finish saying what he would give her in exchange.

“I have a pretty good ear for things that happens around here. Or Thedas. And I give good advices,” he told her with a winning smile.

She huffed into her drink, not bothering to reply when she was busy drinking her mind into a stupor.

“First advice, for free,” he persisted. “The Seeker isn’t a bad woman. She just has a strange way to show she cares a lot about the world and the people. Your words might have been a bit harsh for her. I can’t say for the Nightingale, though. I don’t really know her.”

Maybe he was right, but she wasn’t ready to go and apologize. She was too busy trying to drink her way to Nowhereland.

“No reply?” mocked the Storyteller.

She shrugged.

“It’s not like I’m all important. I’m just a somebody that has a Mark on her hand. Nothing else.”

“You’re the Herald of Andraste for the people. You’re their hope to end the disasters that happen everywhere in Thedas,” he reminded her. “But… You don’t really want to be in the Inquisition, do you?”

“Nope,” she replied. “It’s a mistake. Thedas is already in a world of trouble, quite literally. What happens when all are against it? The Chantry, the countries… People don’t like it when a player arrives in the middle of their affairs to try to make them see reason. And then what? What happens when the Inquisition doesn’t win the favors of the countries? It withers and dies and it would have been all for nothing and we’re at the beginning again, but with a whole lot more problems.”

“Oh, I didn’t peg you for a pessimist,” Varric remarked between taking mouthful of his alcohol.

“I’m not,” she deadpanned. “I’m realistic about the chances. If they don’t find a good Inquisitor to make it all work, all their efforts will be worth naught.”

They kept their silence long enough to hear an entire song, that the Bard was singing. The conversations around them became livelier with the flow of alcohol. Even the fire in the hearth seemed merry. For Elissa, she found they were all mocking her with their positive thinking. She thought alcohol would help her depressive mood, but it seemed not to have the desired outcome. She was a pathetic mess, wasn’t she?

“So,” she said, minutes later. “What would be the title of the book?”

Varric gave her a disarming smile and began narrating.

-£-

While she alternated between ruminating her thoughts and drinking until she fell asleep – an activity she hadn’t done since her younger years, when she was a Cousland still and her family was alive – she took to another action: watch all things around her. She watched the people passing by her little cabin, she watched the sky and the Breach, she watched the soldiers running laps, the couriers transporting messages and the crows bringing them back. The people were milling around the village, slowly transforming it into a military camp.

She didn’t like that, but she didn’t have the power to stop it, even if she was, technically, in her kingdom, because she was in an Inquisition outpost too now and that meant negotiations and politics. She wasn’t ready for that, yet.

It was on a clear night with the stars shining brightly in the sky that she met again with Mayor Garthol. The man saw her, sitting alone on the steps of her cozy little cottage, a tankard in hand and her face turned toward the night sky, and went to sit next to her.

For the longest of moment, neither spoke. And then, she bowed her head, ashamed of herself, without knowing why.

“I know,” Garthol simply murmured, when he saw her move.

The air was dreadfully cold, but the shivers that ran through her back were not caused by the temperature.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered back. “How can I participate in an Order in which I don’t believe, nor care for? Why am I the only one, who doesn’t have a choice? It’s like all those years ago. I didn’t have a choice then too.” She turned her head to look him in the eyes. “Did you know that I didn’t want to be a Warden?”

“No, I did not,” he replied gently. “What happened?”

She laughed a harsh sound that grated on her eardrums, like nails on a black board.

“The Warden-Commander of Ferelden from back then, Duncan, believed I could do some good in the ranks of the Warden. But I refused and my father approved. I was to take over the Teyrnir while our soldiers went to fight the Darkspawn with my father and my brother. But that night, when our soldiers were gone, Arl Howe and his men took over the Castle and killed everyone. Duncan saved me, with the condition that I join the ranks of the Grey Wardens. My father, dying then, agreed, because a Cousland has to do his or her Duty. I lost everyone and everything and all they could do, was to order me to become what I didn’t want to become. When I refused once again, Duncan conscripted me.”

The silence was overflowing with her restrained emotions. After a few seconds, she released a breath and her tightly clenched hands.

“When the fight at Ostagar was lost with the flight of Loghain and his soldiers, when I knew that Alistair and I were going to die, I was ready. But we were saved, again, and then, we didn’t have the choice but to fight against the Blight, because that’s what Warden do. And because, as a Cousland, I wasn’t going to let a damn Blight engulf Ferelden in its bloody claws and chaos. And we won. For ten years, we’ve been rebuilding the country and overcoming the destruction the Blight did, little by little. I have a caring husband now, I have five wonderful children, a kingdom that is here, always and a Duty to keep me from being bored to tears,” she said the last part with a small laugh and she saw the Mayor answering in kind. “But Fate saw fit to make me a new symbol and to curse me with another Duty I absolutely don’t want.”

They stayed silent, observing the twinkling stars in the black sky that was above the mountains of Haven.

“I really don’t have a choice, do I?” she asked the air around her.

A breeze made her hairs in disarray fly and shivers took her. She rubbed her arms to heat them and help them fight off the cold.

“You always have a choice,” Garthol finally replied after a long while. “But it is you that define your choices. Nobody can order you to do something that you don’t want to do. If it is any comfort to you, I would be more at ease with a Ferelden that knows something about saving Thedas and making difficult decisions in the Inquisition, be it as its head or not. We – Fereldens – know what you are capable of, and we have the utmost respect for you, whatever your decision. We know that, even if not in the Inquisition, you won’t let us down. You may be the Herald of Andraste to the Chantry and the others and the Hero of Ferelden, but to us, you’re a proud Ferelden, a Cousland and a Therein and that is more important than any fancy titles they give you.”

She laughed in wonder, never having imagined a speech like that from the Mayor.

“Thank you,” she murmured, feeling lighter than she had in days.

She abandoned her tankard, forgotten on the ground, the mead freezing in its hold, looked to the stars a last time, before she closed her eyes and let her mind swirl with the possibilities of her future.

It was time she thought about it.


	6. Hero, Herald... Whatever (part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all of you people that are reading this fiction and leaving comment and kudos, it's really gratifying to know someone appreciate it!  
> Enjoy!

-£-

She found her hitting a mannequin, not far from the training soldiers and Commander Cullen, who was barking orders and advices to the novices.

“Lady Cassandra,” she nodded to her in greetings, but soon stopped when her head protested against the motions, her temples throbbing, reminding her of her hangover state.

The Seeker stopped her movements and turned to face her, her eyebrows up on her forehead in an expression of surprise.

“Herald,” the Nevarran answered after a tense moment of observation.

“I was told that I may have been a bit harsh the other day,” she explained, a bit stiff. “For that and the tone I may have employed, I apologize. Only for that, though, as I don’t regret my words.”

“Apology accepted,” Cassandra answered immediately.

She nodded and was already taking her leave of the uncomfortable situation to go somewhere else and take a nap or seek a mage or a healer for a remedy against her headache now that her good behavior was done for the day, before Cassandra called her back. She stopped a sigh from escaping her lips, sealed them against the oncoming words of doom she wanted to let loose and breathed deeply and slowly. When she calmed herself and composed her face, she turned around.

“Yes?” she queried.

“I apologize too,” the Seeker said in a voice a little remorseful and hesitant, as if she wasn't used to apologize to anyone. “I hadn’t thought of what you might have thought about the Inquisition. You or the Champion. I was just so focused on what I had to do to make it happen…”

The Nevarran sighed and sheathed her sword, straightening her posture and her clothes, trying to appear more at ease with the situation.

“Apology accepted,” Elissa responded calmly.

She knew people like Cassandra. They were of the school ‘act first and think later’. It didn’t mean that they were malicious or that they were bad people, it only meant that they weren’t too great strategist nor too great political figure. They didn’t care to play games or the Game, they cared only for the results they wanted.

Of course, those who wanted good ending were marching a dangerous road, because even with good intentions, it was hurdle after hurdle and the road was long and difficult.

“I can’t take back my words, though,” Cassandra said. “The Inquisition is open and it will stay that way.”

“Yes, I know. I didn’t expect it to magically disappear into thin air,” Elissa replied, with more bite than she wanted, but the words were already said when she noticed it. “And I know, or… I was made aware of the fact that, you wanted nothing more than the best for Thedas. I will make sure to keep that in mind for our future interactions. As the situation is, I can’t go back to what I was doing and I have a Mark that can help close rifts, thus, I will stay here. But don’t expect me to attend meetings and appease the Chantry clerks. I heard them you know. If I was to meet one of them, it could be that your dainty little alliance with the Chantry could be… in danger.”

The Nevarran watched her with a steady look, focused on some inner thoughts.

“You don’t like the Chantry much, do you?” the woman finally asked.

“Like?” laughed Elissa in derision. “I don’t particularly like them, no.”

“Will you have problems working with us? With the faithful?”

“No,” she replied, seriously. She had always known her apparent lack of faith was problematic, and more so for a Queen of Ferelden, but Alistair didn’t particularly care and had made his point clear on that point to the Grand Cleric of the Denerim Chantry, when they had their marriage and coronation. “I have nothing against them. Everyone is entitled to have faith in whatever they believe or prefer to believe. If they don’t care about my belief and let me be, there is no problem.”

The Seeker nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. Elissa just went away, ready to fall into bed and forget everything that just happened. Her headache had grown in that time of delay between her awakening and her return to her mattress.

-£-

Marching down the village was fascinating. It was good to be reminded of the good that could be achieved by the people working together. Haven had been in shambles when she had walked away ten years ago and when she had visited after that, the constructions – or reconstructions more like – were ongoing. The villagers had built something beautiful in this harsh environment. They could be proud of their results. If only this thrice damned Temple could have been elsewhere, all would be well in this thrice damned world and in her own life.

Gazing in wonder around, her eyes finally settled on a table housing weapons and other materials. Curious, she ambled closer to take a look. She was caressing the soft furs she found and nodded her head when she found quality, until a voice brought her out of her musings.

“No touching!” the voice cried.

She spun on her feet, her hand already reaching for her sword, when the words registered in her mind.

“I was merely contemplating the quality of the materials,” she replied.

And then, the voice registered _completely_ in her mind. As she stood there, frozen on the spot, she dimly understood that the female standing before her was speaking.

“Oh you’re her,” the voice said, somewhat nonplussed. “Threnn. Inquisition Quartermaster,” she presented herself.

Elissa didn’t answer.

“I do what I can to supply this mess. If you find what I need to fill one of our requisitions, I would appreciate you bringing it in.

And then, Elissa found her voice again. She put on a fake smile and asked her questions in her most innocuous tone. That shrew would not know what would befall her.

“How does someone end up as Quartermaster in the Inquisition?” Yes, she thought gleefully. Rub that fact in her face that her help is no longer needed, nor appreciated in Ferelden.

“I served Ferelden under Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir,” Threnn answered. Elissa didn’t want to hear what she said next. “Best Commanding Officer this world has ever seen. After they all turned on him in Denerim, though, there wasn’t much for people who held that opinion. King Alistair offered my services to the Inquisition, to get rid of me.”

It was the best decision Alistair had, because that woman was a menace to her peace of mind in Denerim – her’s and his’ too. When her thoughts processed all the ramification of that decision made by her husband, her eyebrows furrowed and she grew restless on her feet, changing weight from one to the other.

That oaf! He knew she was with the Inquisition, even if she wasn’t in it. Why, oh why would he sent Threnn here of all place? She couldn’t stand the woman and he knew it! Did he want her to keep an eye on her, maybe? She knew he would have a lot of work by being alone and ruling the kingdom alone without divulging her place of hiding or her situation, but couldn’t he keep that woman all the way to Denerim? She could curse all her soul there against her rulers, as the majority of the people thought the world of their Royal Majesties and her words would only play against her and not win her any points.

She smiled blandly as she replied.

“So. Loghain. The betrayal of his King and the Grey Wardens when they were saving Thedas doesn’t count? As a Commanding Officer, I thought his role was to set a good example for his soldiers?”

“Were you there at Ostagar?” the Quartermaster speared right through the conversation and into the history Elissa would prefer not to think about at the moment.

Elissa wanted to cry yes and strangle Threnn until she acquiesced with her or turn blue in the face. One or the other would satisfy her immensely.

“I was,” Threnn continued. “King Cailan over-extended his position and the Grey Wardens were too late lighting the signal. Following the original plan would have gotten everyone killed. Teyrn Loghain made the right decision.” A beat of silence and then, “My apologies. Sister Leliana has told me I shouldn’t talk about this. Please, forget it.”

Oh, Leliana ordered then? She was thankful for that, if nothing else, at least.

And if only Teyrn Loghain wasn’t acting as strategist before the Battle of Ostagar… It wasn’t as if it had been staged, oh no. Didn’t they think before opening their mouth spewing this filth?

“Oh, I certainly _will not_ forget it,” Elissa stated, her bland smile transforming into a devious smirk. “Maybe it is time for a history lesson? Even ten years later, there is no shame in admitting you don’t know something. There is no shame in trying to know more, you know. Even going to the source. I mean, don’t you have the Wardens who were at Ostagar as your King and Queen? Didn’t you ask for their version of the story?”

The look she received made her feel great. She wanted to bask in that feeling for a moment.

“I heard they were open to all their people, that they would talk to peasant and nobility alike,” she added, because… well, just because she could.

She was vindictive? Yes, absolutely. And it was a good thing too, as people that knew her, knew not to anger her or cross her on particularly painful subject. That Threnn had it coming for ten years. For ten years she had been a reminder of Loghain and his betrayal at the worst moment. She had been a voice people listened to at the beginning of Alistair’s – and her – reign. But as the time passed and the people saw Ferelden transform under their rule, those of Threnn’s opinion became less and less, until she was one of the only vocalizer for Loghain still.

This Quartermaster would not be in the Inquisition as its Quartermaster if she had her say in it.

Although, the conversation she just had made her realise something else: she now knew for a fact that she wasn’t ready to be in the Inquisition. She would be too spiteful and hurt it and its administration before it had even a chance to begin, by being her sarcastic cheerful self to people like Threnn. And she knew they were many in political circles.

Now that the Order was open, it wouldn’t do to be in its way and undermine its authority with her petty arguments against everyone she couldn’t stand. She would not participate. Not now anyway, but the future would tell more, if the Inquisition would stay or not.

However, the Mark and the reputation she was already gathering as the Herald of Andraste was hindering her ability to ‘not participate’. What was she to do? She could let them drag her carcass all over the world, that much she knew she didn’t have a choice, because of the presence of the rifts. Other than that, she would keep pestering them. If they wanted her as the Inquisitor, they would have to know what type of person she was and what they were engaging their sanity in.

Yes, let them all see how she was. She had nothing to lose after all; she had her freedom to gain, however.

-£-

The Lady Cassandra was tasked with accompanying her to the War Room, as they called it, to have a meeting with the Inquisition Councilors.

After having talked to Varric and Solas – and diffusing questions from them like a professional, because she _was_ a professional even if she didn’t look the part the majority of the time – and having walked every path of the village and rounded every corner, she was ready to face another trial. It wasn’t as if she had a say in their work, isn’t it? She hadn’t signed on the starring role of Inquisitor. Nor would she. She was just a nobody, who bore a Mark.

“Does it trouble you?” the Nevarran asked her when she looked at her hand as they were walking in the center of the Chantry, toward the Room at the back of the building.

They stopped for a short time and watched her hand, fascinated in spite of themselves.

“Nope,” she said and closed her hand to form a fist.

She began walking again.

“You don’t want to talk, I gather,” Cassandra stated.

“Nope,” she repeated.

The Seeker stopped her by catching her arm in her tight grip. She went stiff and relaxed only when the Nevarran let go of her. Elissa waited impatiently for her to ask whatever she wanted to ask.

“You know… Your Mark and the Breach are stable. You’ve given us time we didn’t have before. Solas thinks a second attempt on the Breach may seal it – provided the Mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

Elissa stayed silent, her gaze penetrating the Seeker with its intensity and its brilliance. The amber color was like it was lit from the inside.

“I… don’t know what to do or say to make you believe that we want only the best for Thedas,” stammered Cassandra, trying to find the words to express her feeling on this subject. “And what I was trying to ask is… Will you, at least, work with us?”

“Well, yes, as I already stated a few days prior to all this,” she responded, waving a hand in the air. “As I said, I have a Mark and you need it. Today, I join you in this meeting, only because I want to meet the others and make official my _not-joining_ the Inquisition.”

Cassandra nodded.

“I understand.”

“Good,” she replied. “Because I don’t.”

She had said she wouldn’t play politics or anything else and here she was, trying to say hello in an official manner.

-£-

They were inside less than two seconds and she could already feel the hard stare of Leliana on her. She refused to look her way for the moment.

“You’ve met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition forces,” began Cassandra when the door was closed behind the both of them.

He was observing her with a watchful eye, trying to catch anything interesting from her; he looked to the side rapidly, as if bored of the picture she made. It was right that she wasn’t a dashing young thing anymore, what with five pregnancies and her assets – shiny black hairs and green eyes – gone for now and even with the clothes she chose to wear to blend in the crowd swiftly if the need arose; but to judge her on looks alone was a little insulting. And when she felt insulted… well, he would fast learn of it.

“Oh, I thought it was Knight-Commander as you are ordered by Hands of the Divine,” she nodded back to him, trying her hardest to manage a soft tone. “But then, if you were a Templar, I wouldn’t appreciate you half as much as I do. Mind you, I do know Templars. Well, ex-Templars. They are the best,” she announced proudly with a smile. “Less Templar makes for a more average capacity in population for intellectual conversation. Might be why Orlais is… Well. Orlais. If it is agreeable with you, I will call on you for a conversation.”

To refine her conversation skill to such a point… She didn’t even know if she had insulted him or complimented him. She had tried for both. She thought she had succeeded if she had to judge it by the emotions reflected on the Commander’s face passing by too fast to put a name on them. All she could tell was he was indecisive on the manner in which to respond.

“… We’ll see,” he finally uttered, mumbled something more but it was incomprehensible from where she stood, before straitening his posture. “I’m pleased you survived.”

Cassandra coughed awkwardly in her hand, before continuing the presentations.

“This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our Ambassador and Chief Diplomat."

“I’ve heard much. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last,” declared the woman with her dark complexion and shiny golden stylized clothes.

“Oh,” Elissa exclaimed. “Antivan woman! Nice,” she simply said and then, smiled like a cat that got the canary and its family. “A game of Wicked Grace by Antivan rules, sometimes soon?”

She saw the smile spread on the Ambassador’s face, from polite to honest, before she was rapidly cut by Cassandra’s voice, her accent thickening with her increased stress level. Elissa was so enjoying this.

“And of course, you know Sister Leliana.”

“My position here involves a degree of—” the Bard began.

“She is our spymaster,” Cassandra cut impatiently.

Elissa knew that. From Bard to Sister in the Chantry, to Spy in the Chantry, to Spymaster in the Chantry and the Inquisition. Her friend had grown and Elissa didn’t like what she saw of what she had become after these years.

“Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra,” Leliana declared with open sarcasm, but with an even tone.

Elissa didn’t snort in laughter, but only because she had company. Introductions done, she had nothing else to do in this room. Time to make her departure.

“Pleased to meet you all,” she said, then whirled on her feet and was out the door before anyone could stop her.

-£-

“Commander Cullen, was it?” she asked, coming closer to him.

He was one of the people she decided to whom she would tell the truth, because she remembered having met him when the Ferelden Circle had been under the control of demons during the Blight. She thought she owed him that much at least. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he went through at the time.

She inclined her head a little to the side, indicating an area devoid of listening ears and clanking arms. He followed her, his surprise at being called already masked on his face. The snow crunched under their feet and in her boots, her feet were cold already.

“Herald,” he responded with a nod of respect, when they finally stopped in the spot she had chosen to have this conversation.

She laughed a little, self-deprecating and self-aware of the strain in her voice.

“Yes, apparently the people like giving me titles. And I was just happy with Elissa Cousland, daughter of Teyrn Cousland, but they didn’t stop at that, did they?” she sighed.

The silence was heavy and she took a deep breath before raising her head to stare at the Commander. He looked as if he had seen a ghost, which wasn’t that far from the truth. His eyes were intently – and a little wildly too – watching her features, trying to see what she was saying. An intake of breathe made her understand he had found what he wanted.

“You’re… _her_ ,” he breathed, part in awe, part in horror.

He was pale and his eyes were opened like he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. He didn’t even blink once. She nodded. She didn’t need to have him explain what he meant.

“I wanted to let you know… well, my name at least. And I wanted to thank you. I couldn’t imagine what you went through in Kinloch Hold, but know that the country is grateful for your aid, your dedication… and your presence in the Inquisition. I’m sure Ferelden couldn’t have agreed on a more dedicated and passionate person.”

Speech given, she gave another nod, more pronounced, to show her respect.

“You know… our Spymaster knows… our Lady Seeker knows… and… our Lady Amabassador will know too, in time. But… when the time is right.”

“I— You—” he began, searching for words, which wouldn’t come.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I will not impose on you more than that, I’m sure you have more than your fair share of work to do.”

She turned on her heels, trying to depart with as much dignity as she could manage, without appearing to run away from here. She knew exactly what he had to be feeling, because she was sure she was feeling it too. To remember the time of the Blight was to plunge deep into memories she preferred not to remember and she supposed it was the same for the Commander.

“Your Majesty,” Cullen called.

Elissa stopped immediately, looked around her to see if anyone was here, lurking in the shadows or behind trees and overheard the Commander before she spun on her feet with forceful intent. Snow flew everywhere around her as she stomped her feet in aggravation.

“No,” she said, before pointing a finger to his face. “I am not. Not here. I am the Herald, as the people want me to be. I am a person like everyone else.”

“But… My Lady,” he tried again. “I…” and he stopped, because he didn’t really know what to say, she could tell by the expression on his face.

She smiled gently and took the conversation in another direction to try and make him more comfortable. It wouldn’t do for the Commander of the troops to be intimidated by her presence. She theorized that she would be brought to work alongside him a number of times non-negligible.

“Where are you from, Commander?”

“Honnleath, My Lady,” he replied, before taking a calming breath and continuing, hesitatingly first and more confidently as the words were spoken. “I… I am honored by your trust. I can assure you it is not misplaced. The knowledge will not fall in others hands.”

“I thank you, Commander. But please, just keep calling me Herald, if you can’t think of a nickname like Varric,” she told him with a little snigger.

Cullen took on a priceless expression of horror at, she supposed, the irreverence of the dwarf.

“I will immediately tell him to cease his—”

“No,” she laughed. “It’s nothing, really. I’ve been called worse, you know. And a nickname is intended to be a sign of familiarity and, somewhat, of trust. I am grateful for his nickname,” she explained to him.

“Oh. Okay. Herald,” he responded, cautiously.

The stood in silence a little longer.

“I wanted to apologize too. For my words from when we were officially presented. I spoke them, because I knew they were somewhat hurtful and because I was miserable and I wanted to make everyone else miserable. And now that you know my identity, don’t take my words personally. My husband was to be a Templar, before he was enrolled in the Grey Wardens. I happen to know many Templars and enjoy the time I pass in their company. What I greatly dislike is their need for Lyrium and the leash the Chantry has them on because of this.”

Something in his eyes and in his face spoke of acknowledgement of her words, but he didn’t comment on it.

They regarded each other an instant, carefully weighting each other, before Elissa opened her eyes in amazement, remembering suddenly what he told her just minutes ago.

“You’re from Honnleath!” she exclaimed and laughed.

Not sure about her reaction, he only nodded silently.

“Yes, I am…” he watched her warily, trying to judge her emotions from that surprising outburst.

“Do you remember a big statue at the center of your village? A big ugly one looking like a golem from the stories of the dwarves?” she asked.

He was, for a moment, completely thrown off by the direction of her questioning.

“Yes,” he replied with a slow nod. “The children used to love hanging things on it. It was one of the games we played. It is sad that it was broken during the Blight.”

“Broken!” she exclaimed before dissolving into giggles.

Now, Cullen was confused by the attitude of the Herald and a little aggravated too, because he didn’t like not understanding.

When she finally calmed herself, Elissa looked at the Commander, laugh lines present in the corner of her eyes and making her brow crinkling.

“The statue is fine if you wanted to know. She’s called Shale. If you want to look for her, I would try the dwarven kingdom. Maybe Orzammar and the Thaigs under it.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came to mind. He closed it again.

With a mischievous smile and a far-away look, she explained what she knew.

“Shale is a golem. She was put in Honnleath and she had been immobile for a long time before I found the rod controlling her. She came with me and my band of misfits and helped with the Blight. She was… something else alright,” Elissa said with fond remembrance. “She hated birds, told me they kept trying to sit on her head. And she kept calling me it and telling me ‘It is too squishy, it can be squished to death.’ She has gone on her way after the Blight and the coronation. She wanted to know more about the dwarves and she didn’t want to see the birds anymore.”

Suddenly, the Commander understood better why one simple meeting with the Hero of Ferelden was life-changing. The story she just told him defeated all his young years and the stories all children made about the statue, the late night trying to haul themselves on it to be on top of the world – and it was a golem! – and the moments trying to crawl under it to be kept safe from the rain – where they could have been crushed to death.

“Well… That’s…” he stuttered, blinking from his memories.

She smirked at him, a knowing glint in her eyes.

“Maybe I could pen her a letter so you could meet her. She has to be one of your heroes, no?”

She departed, laughing maddeningly as he sputtered behind her, in search of words of wisdom or to say no to her. He didn’t have the time, she was already gone.

-£-

“A Chantry Cleric would like to speak to you, Herald of Andraste.”

Leliana just lost points for calling her that. It was like she was ordering her to do her duty as the Herald of Andraste. Except she wasn’t, but apparently, she was the only one to believe that.

“Good for her.”

The Spymaster was pinching her lips so thinly, they were nearly non-existent.

“She is called Mother Giselle. She is not far and knows those involved in the war far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable,” Leliana continued.

“Then,” she replied slowly, as if making sure the Sister understood her words very clearly. “It is a good thing that you have Chantry Cleric _and_ an Ambassador under your thumb.”

“She is tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands, near Redcliffe.”

She froze. And suddenly understood what Leliana was doing.

Holy Mabari, her friend was manipulating her to do her bidding and chose the emotional impact of her careful words to do so. Leliana knew Redcliffe was like a second – or more like third – home for her and to be there to help her own people was what she wanted, what she needed. To reconnect more deeply with her roots and with Fereldens sounded like a beautiful dream. She hadn’t thought that being surrounded by Chantry Clerks and Orlesians would be so tiring, even when she didn’t have to be present for all their mind games, but it was.

“Elissa,” began Leliana. “I know we didn’t reconnect on good terms, but know that I _am_ your friend. All I know is that the world is in need of someone to be there for when it fall to pieces. Is it my fault if I believe in you to be that person?”

Oh, emotional blackmail. Nice. Or was Leliana saying the truth for once? Whatever the truth, Leliana had Elissa at the words Redcliffe and the Spymaster knew it.

She shook her head to clear it.

“Well, what are you doing here? Prepare the journey!” she ordered as she stood from her place, sitting beside a fire to ward off the cold atmosphere and Varric, who had listened to the conversation without saying a word.

Leliana was gone within seconds.

Elissa finally turned her head toward the Dwarf. She raised an eyebrow. He mimicked her. She tilted her head sideway, both her eyebrows raised. He sighed and nodded dejectedly. She laughed, patted him on his shoulder and went to prepare, knowing Varric would be accompanying her on this journey to Redcliffe. She would need to be ready to fight. She whistled loudly, a long and sharp sound, and Martel came running in her direction, barking happily, like he already knew they would soon be home and on a new adventure.

She hoped the situation hadn’t deteriorated to the point of Alistair having called the Army. She hoped that Teagan hadn’t returned and that he was safe in Denerim.

And last, she hoped that the Mages and Templar knew what they had done by being their distasteful selves and fighting in a place where they had no place to be. They had been offered refuge just to throw it away. They would soon understand you didn’t cross Fereldens and oust them from their own home. It was time they received a little payback for their poor behaviors. Plus, Teagan had promised his best shipment of wine if she – Alistair and her originally, but she was alone right now – was successful in ordering the chaos on his lands.

She would win. She wanted that wine.

-£-


	7. Freedom, What Freedom?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, my thanks to all! You people are amazing! Thank you for the comments and the kudos and the bookmarks and your presence on this page, reading - or not - this fic!  
> Enjoy this new chapter! (The next one might be posted this weekend, but no promises!)

-£-

“I don’t understand how you can drink like that. It’s impressive,” Varric declared with a raised eyebrow and looking at the bottle with a mix of disgust and awe.

Elissa looked at the bottle, sniffed the liquid inside, shrugged her shoulders and took a large mouthful. She coughed when the alcohol burned a passage through her throat and took a second sip, smaller this time.

“Warden beverage,” she introduced the others to her bottle. “As we travel, we can’t exactly refill our bottles with pure wine or ale or whatever you drink and we don’t have the time to finish one in orderly fashion, so we mixed all that we find and here you are: warden mixture, to wake the dead. Quite literally sometimes,” she added with a thoughtful expression, speaking of old memories.

They were sitting around a campfire, after a long day of walking. They were on their journey towards Redcliffe and even with the clenching of her stomach caused by fear of what they would find at their destination, she was giddy with the prospect of finding herself on family land. She recognized as their environment changed as they approached the Hinterlands, she recognized the odor of fresh grass, of wet mabaris and other animals.

Looking at Martel, she knew her loyal friend was happy to be back here, in the open space of Ferelden. His tail, or what passed for one on a mabari, was wagging excitedly, even in his sleep, which he needed more and more these days. And wasn’t that a sad thought. Her Martel would soon be incapable of accompanying her wherever she went. He would be with his family, safe in Denerim. He would make a good instructor for his own puppies. But he wouldn’t be able to continue on with her as his short life was coming to a different one as her own.

She hadn’t really thought about life after Martel and his loyal following, but now that she was faced with it, she couldn’t deny it more: her mabari would soon be more wanted with his puppies than on a battlefield. It was a sad thought and a happy one at the same time; and when she looked at her furry friend, she knew he knew it too. Martel was smart, however everyone wanted to say differently; and because of that, he knew what would become of him after this last crusade. Maybe it was the reason he came all the way from Denerim to help her in this last endeavor. Elissa liked this idea; it was sweet of her mabari, resting peacefully at the moment.

“So, do wardens have other bad habits lurking about?” Varric asked when there was silence and Elissa was back again with her companions.

“Certainly,” she answered. “But no more than your average being. We’re all the same. Well, except for the more advanced senses and the generally short lifespan.”

“Aren’t you a cheery one,” the dwarf commented with an exasperated shake of his head.

She was a little grumpy by the journey being this long and Redcliffe approaching the end to their trek. She was afraid of what she might discover there and wanted to be there already and be far away from any trouble at the same time. But it wasn’t to be and she had said she would find this Mother Giselle and look at what had happened on Teagan’s lands.

This would be a long while before she could safely rest, she thought, closing her eyes against the bright light of the fire that was heating their surrondings.

-£-

When they neared Redcliffe and saw the camp ahead of them with the flags of the Inquisition, they considered to stop there to replenish their supplies and to demand them about the whereabouts of Inquisition Scout Harding, who was their contact they needed to meet.

But as their little party came forward to introduce themselves, a female dwarf saw them and came striding forward to meet them. Her pace was swift with purpose and a little excited. With what, only her could tell.

“The Herald of Andraste! I’ve heard the stories. Everyone has. We know what you did at the Breach,” the female dwarf was saying, before bowing a little. “It’s an honor, my Lady. Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service. I – all of us here – we’ll do whatever we can to help.”

“Harding, huh?” Varric laughed smugly. “Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?”

“I can’t say I have. Why?” questioned the scout.

“You’d be Harding in… Oh, never mind.”

But Elissa had understood – Hard(ing) in Hightown, anyone? – and didn’t know if she could laugh without insulting Scout Harding.

Cassandra let her opinion known to everyone when she groaned. Yup, the Seeker had understood too. Maybe she wasn’t a desperate case if she could understand the humor of Varric. Now that she thought about it, how was it that the Nevarran even knew about the literature the dwarf had written? She would have to meditate about it at a later time.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Elissa said, redirecting the conversation away from subject that could potentially begin a new argument between Varric and Cassandra, while Solas looked at them all with his superiors airs.

She supposed the elf didn’t like humans – or dwarves – all that much. She could understand that, she was of the same mind sometimes.

“We should get to business,” Scout Harding agreed. “The situation’s pretty dire.”

Elissa nodded and stood at attention, listening to the report. Now that they were finally at the end of their journey after many days on the road, she couldn’t wait for the action to take place, for problems to be solved and for Redcliffe to be returned to its rightful owner.

“We came to secure horses from Redcliffe’s old horsemaster,” Harding was saying. “I grew up here, and people always said that Dennet’s herds were the strongest and fastest this side of the Frostbacks. But with the Mage-Templar fighting getting worse, we couldn’t get to Dennet. Maker only knows if he’s even still alive.”

Elissa held up a hand, ordering the scout to be silent for a moment, and then, turned to Cassandra.

“Dennet’s horses?” she demanded. “When were you going to let me know? I thought we were here for Mother Giselle.”

The Seeker frowned, her expression puzzled.

“I thought you knew,” she answered.

“Of course not!” she replied, indignant about the whole affair. “I know what I said to you all and I maintain my position about it, but what in the fade? I came here of my own volition, the best you could do would be to inform me of our objectives, when I am going on this mission, even if I’m not really in this! Is there anything else I need to know?”

“I don’t think so,” was the tensed answer from Cassandra.

“Great,” Elissa gritted between her teeth. “I will be having words with the others when we get back.” She looked at the clouds and the blue sky, entertaining for a moment the idea that she would not go back to Haven, but would stay in Redcliffe to help those who needed it the most, as was her duty as a ruler of this country. “If I get back.”

The scout was staring at them, not knowing what to say or to do. Elissa stopped her from her indecision by demanding about the location of this Mother Giselle that they were here to talk with and was therefore their primary objective.

However, with the complete report of Dennet’s situation, she couldn’t stay here and do nothing about this. Finding the man could only improve moral and the lands. Plus, to lose such a fine man to this war between Mages and Templars would be shameful. When she found the Mages and these Templars, they would rue the day they were born and would meet the pointy end of her sword if they didn’t comply with her demands of stopping their attacks.

There was a time for trying to put a stop to this by being cautious and the voice of reason, but there was a time for more forceful methods and this was it. They had their chances, it would stop now.

“Mother Giselle’s at the Crossroads helping refugees and the wounded,” Harding informed them. “Our latest reports say that the war’s spread there, too. Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to help protect the people, but they won’t be able to hold out very long.”

“Thank you for your help, Scout Harding,” Elissa said to the dwarf with a little nod. “You can return to your duties now, I’ll take it from here.”

“I will. And you best get going, Herald,” she responded. “No time to lose.”

And with these parting words, Elissa and her three companions headed out of the camp and into the Hinterlands and the Crossroads were they would meet this Mother Giselle.

-£-

They had been descending a hill when the sounds of metal clashing against metal broke their enforced silence.

“Inquisition forces! They’re trying to protect the refugees!” Cassandra exclaimed.

Her cries made Elissa more aware of the fighting ahead of them and she drew her sword from its sheath and her dagger from her belt.

“Looks like they could use a hand!” Varric said helpfully, but Elissa was already charging and engaging the enemy.

They were Templars.

“Hold!” the Nevarran cried. “We are not apostates!”

The Templars continued to fight them, seemingly unaware of the words or not caring one bit for them.

“I do not think they care, Seeker,” Solas said, before firing shards of ice in the direction of the closest Templar seeking their destruction.

They were drunk on bloodshed and crazy and seeking only utter destruction! And they were on her lands, in her country, trying to bleed dry its inhabitants? They would pay for that!

Only seconds after the last Templars died on her sword, her group was attacked by Mages and their fireballs and sigils.

“We are not Templars! We mean you no harm!” Solas shouted to the attacking Mages, trying to warn them of their peaceful intentions.

“Doesn’t look like they’re listening,” Varric stated before letting loose a poisoned arrow at the nearest Mages, who disappeared from the place only to reappear away from them.

That was when Elissa’s rage became like a living being. She drew a sharp breath and calling on her ire like she remembered Oghren telling her, she screamed in the air, a war cry on her lips, the smell of blood in her nose and on her tongue and the uncontrollable wrath of her fury boiling in her veins.

“Be ready,” warned Solas, after the lull in the fighting created by the mages being dead or on their way to that state. “More coming our way!” he pointed to the road at their backs.

She charged the Mages and the Templars, indifferent of them all, like they were of them. She cut and slashed, opened bellies, spelling their guts like they were gutting Ferelden of their citizen by fighting indiscriminately, just for their want for blood, just for an outlet at their ire at life.

“Die!” cried one of the mages.

“Indeed!” Elissa responded and cut off his head.

“Mercy!” cried a Templar.

She laughed mirthlessly, the sound grating her throat and her eardrums.

“Like you had for everyone you killed?” she mocked and let the Templar meet his end on her pointy sword, like she swore to herself she would.

Finally, the fighting stopped and only corpses were left on the road, soiled by the blood of the deceased. She looked at them, solemn and dignified in her armor, her sword in her hand, pointing down.

“You’ve been judged,” she intoned. “And found guilty of treason, mad behavior endangering the people of these lands and invading lands that do not belong to you. For these crimes, the penalty is death. As it has just been dealt with, may you rest in peace in the afterlife.”

She sighed and then took a deep and calming breath. She knew her group was looking at her, as if she had lost her mind, but as a Queen, it was her duty to deal with justice. And if she could remember that for the fighting that was sure to follow, she would not lose her cool like she just did.

-£-

They made their way to the village after that, somber mood weighting their feet. There were dead and wounded everywhere. Tents stood surrounding the wooden buildings, providing lodging for everyone. Supplies were in short order and the people were getting desperate. If she could see all of that, just by walking down the road, the situation was worse than that. It was always worse than what the eyes could see, or wanted to see.

They signaled their presence to the soldiers of the Inquisition and were then directed to Mother Giselle. They found her with the wounded, tending to them.

“There are mages here who can heal your wounds. Lie still,” the Mother ordered gently to one of the soldier.

Her Orlesian accent was thick and Elissa was cringing ever so slightly to hear it.

“Don’t… let them touch me, mother. Their magic is–” the soldier was saying, trying to sit and get away from the helpful hands.

“Turned to noble purpose, their magic is surely no more evil than your blade,” she scolded and reassured in one sentence.

“But…” the soldier hesitated.

“Hush, dear boy. Allow them to ease your suffering,” she finally said, calmly, and pushed him down to rest on the bed.

The patient went to lie again and the mage at his side went to help heal him.

Elissa found it was now a good time to interrupt the Mother.

“Why do you compare magic with a sword?” was the first question that came to her lips. “Because as far as I know, a sword is created to kill, mainly. I don’t see it trying to be useful by healing – and bleeding someone is not a method of healing I agree with,” she added tersely.

The Chantry Mother looked up and stood up, her eyebrows creasing a little in puzzlement, before the expression cleared off from her dark complexion.

“You must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste,” she answered, going near Elissa.

“It is what they want to call me. Doesn’t mean it is what I am,” she said to the question-turned-statement. “I’m told you asked for me. And you didn’t answer my question,” she reminded the Mother, who chuckled.

“Magic can be like a sword, it is true. And yes, it is not only like that, but a hurting soldier will respond better to an analogy he can understand,” Giselle explained.

Elissa nodded slowly.

“Right. So, you don’t have anything against mages?” she wanted to know, because those in the Chantry were sometimes the worst of the lot against the mages.

“They are children of the Maker as are we all,” Mother Giselle responded.

“That,” deadpanned Elissa in a flat tone, “is not an answer at all.”

“To me,” replied the Mother, without paying attention to the ironic quality of the tone Elissa had used. “It is. The Maker gave the mages their gifts for a reason. He gave the gift to the soldiers and chevaliers to be good in armed combat. He gave the gift of intellect to scholars. Every one of us has been gifted by the Maker, by life first and our gift second. Most of us have forgotten that.”

“Why did you end up in the Chantry when your place would have been obviously better as a diplomat?” Elissa asked, her eyes rolling in exasperation.

Demanding a straight answer from someone like Mother Giselle or the Lady Josephine was like pulling teeth with a giant hammer. Impossible.

“And you wanted to talk to me,” she prompted, directing the both of them with a waving hand toward an emptier area where the moans and cries of the wounded wouldn’t reach them and they could talk in relative peace, without being spied upon.

“Yes,” Mother Giselle answered, regaining her serious air. “I know of the Chantry’s denouncement, and I’m familiar with those behind it. I won’t lie to you: some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine. Some are simply terrified. So many good people, senselessly taken from us…”

“That’s what villains do, killing and bringing fear in the hearts of men, and every other race. But they will not win by stamping on us. We will prevail. Because we have to,” Elissa answered with a forceful voice, because she remembered how the Blight was and how the impression of never-ending despair was accompanying the never-ending hope clinging to their hearts, like they were an inseparable pair.

“Fear makes us desperate,” Giselle agreed, her face showing the grief she still carried in her. “But hopefully, not beyond reason.”

Elissa snorted in a very undignified manner.

“You have more faith in us than I have. Fear often makes us unreasonable. That is not new, that’s reality,” she argued.

“It is true. And it is why you must go to them, in Val Royaux, and convince the remaining clerics you are no demons to be feared,” replied the woman.

“That is easier said than done,” Elissa said and when she understood that she was not done being heard, she continued. “I still think they will want to see me burning before agreeing to talk with me. They like that, it’s festive,” she added acerbically under her breath. “Orlesians…” she muttered like she could mutter a curse.

“That’s because they have heard only frightful tales of you,” the mother explained gently, doing a good impression of having heard nothing of the less than nice words uttered by the Herald and having no intention of starting a fight. “Give them something else to believe.”

“To make them believe I am this Herald of Andraste? Are you mad?” she exclaimed, dubiously. “Then, they might try harder to see me without a head, for blaspheming, or some other reason they will find.”

“Or they might not. Could it really be worse than it is now?”

“I hate to break it to you, but my faith in the world is too low for the moment for me to give another answer than a resounding: yes!”

Mother Giselle chuckled softly, before looking Elissa in the eyes.

“Let me put it this way: you needn’t convince them all. You just need some of them to doubt.”

“You want me to sow doubt in the Chantry ranks?” she asked in an astounded voice. “I agree that that would make me very happy indeed. But don’t you – or we, or whatever – need them to be united to be of some use?”

“But you don’t need them now,” Giselle encouraged. “When they are against the Herald of Andraste. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them, and you receive the time you need.”

Elissa felt one of her eyebrow raising on her forehead, in slight disbelief at what she was hearing.

“You’re an unusual Mother. Why are you doing this?” she wanted to know, because nobody could be that nice to give advice freely without wanting something in return.

For a moment, the Mother stayed quiet, her expression turned inward and thoughtful as she was eyeing her. Judging her, Elissa would say with a sinking heart. She was not a striking figure as of now, covered as she was with gore and blood from the previous battles.

“I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us… but I hope. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other.”

Was the mother suggesting she take the head of the Inquisition? Was she mad? Or was Leliana behind this thought? Maybe she was becoming paranoid. On second thought, being paranoid around Leliana was usually the smart thing to be.

“You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us… or destroy us,” the Mother continued.

Ha! She had said that, hadn’t she? Giselle had to talk to Cassandra and Leliana about that, make them see, even if they could do nothing about it, now that the Inquisition was there.

“And what if I don’t want to be the one to call the people? There are already some good men and women who could happily fulfill that role,” she reminded the Chantry woman.

“There are. But you are the one bearing the Mark and labelled such as the Herald of Andraste. By the people. The same people who would answer a call to rally from you.”

She wanted to scream in frustration. Why were all these people trying to decide for her? She had other things on her mind, she didn’t need the added burden of an Inquisition, trying to piece back together the world. And the Mother seemed to have an answer for all her questions. That was why Elissa didn’t particularly like women of Faith: they knew how to read people and always had a word or advice to give, even if it was not wanted, nor needed.

“I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering,” the Mother Giselle informed her, ending the companionable silence they had fallen into. “It is not much, but I will do whatever I can.”

The mother bowed her head in a respectful manner and departed from the place, letting Elissa deep in her swirling thoughts. The Song, taking the opportunity of distraction in her mind, became louder a short instant, before she snuffed it back again deep in the recesses of her mind. It wouldn’t do to let the Song pull her in dreamland when there were others matters to attend to.

“Herald,” someone called her.

She turned on her feet and was met by the steady gaze of the Seeker.

“Yes?” she answered.

“Corporal Vale is coordinating the Inquisition’s efforts in the area. We should speak with him.”

Elissa sighed.

“Next time – if there is a next time – I would like a more thorough briefing on the mission ahead.”

“You didn’t stay when you were presented–”

“Because it wasn’t a mission briefing!” she replied aggressively, cutting Cassandra in her sentence. “If I’d know there was more to it, maybe I would have stayed, but as I wasn’t informed, why would I do that? You’re not making any sense! You want me to be the Inquisitor without informing me. You want me to be a Herald to the people, without informing me. And you want me to do missions, without informing me! Do you see a recurrent thing in all these?” she asked, as calmly as the eye of the storm, the brewing and raging winds soon to be upon them. “You want me to participate, but you do not _inform_ me of anything!” she exclaimed in fury.

Somewhere behind her, Martel let out a pitiful howl and Elissa remembered she was standing next to the infirmary – or what passed for it anyway, as it was outside and there didn’t seem to be any healer in sight.

She took a deep breath and saw Cassandra looking chagrined.

“I apologize,” the Nevarran said. “Next time will be more organized.”

And without another word, she turned on her heels and marched stiffly down the road to rejoin the rest of their merry little band of misfits of the Inquisition.

She sighed once again and longed for a mead and a bed.

-£-

Corporal Vale had been more than thorough in his report, which put her in a brooding mood. People in the Hinterlands and more importantly, in the Crossroads, needed help and a lot of it. They didn’t have food, didn’t have healers, didn’t even have enough covers for everyone and thus, a lot were suffering from the cold.

Elissa was feeling a little overwhelmed by that. Her people were miserable and suffering, and here she was, in need of nothing to fill her stomach, to make a comfortable bed or to heal her battle wounds. Maybe she really ought to stay here and help in any way she could. She didn’t really participate in the Inquisition, didn’t really have a place up in the mountains, so if she could stay in Ferelden and be the eyes for Alistair, it would be better for everyone involved.

She wasn’t even sure if her absence would be noticed by the people in Haven. They had better things to do with their time than look for her everywhere she went. More than that, the four members of the Inquisition she knew would certainly even prefer that she was not in their way if she could not cooperate without complicating things or constantly arguing with them.

As she looked at Martel, who was happily rolling in the mud not far from her, she thought that her mabari would be more than pleased with her choice to stay here.

And if needed, if the Inquisition wanted her to close rifts and make an appearance as the Herald of Andraste, they could always send her a letter with the indications of where to go and when and she would go. Like that, she would have her freedom to move and do what she did best between these times, and at the same time, she would fulfill her obligations to the Inquisition – even if she didn’t want to.

She could even call Zevran. The elf seemed to be lost somewhere in Antiva at the moment, but if she told him that an adventure was waiting for him, he would accompany her in a heartbeat – and doing a detour by Denerim to see Lilian. Her little girl had taken a liking to the blond elf and he had taken her little girl under his wings, so to speak. He was trying to make her learn the finer point of becoming an assassin. And, Elissa was afraid, Lilian was learning far too much and with far too much enthusiasm for her own peace of mind.

She whistled loudly and Martel came bounding to her. His fur was matted with mud and to dry himself, he shook his whole body. In front of them. Elissa laughed at the outrage on Solas’ face, the disgust she could read on Cassandra’s and the smug delight of Varric, who had stepped rapidly away from the mabari and was the only one not participating in that mud shower.

“Eurgh,” Cassandra grumbled. “Mabaris...”

Certainly hearing her, Martel shook himself once more just for the Seeker, while Elissa continued to laugh and Solas tried to make himself clean.

“Don’t insult him, Cassandra,” she warned the Nevarran with a smirk. “You might be the next friend he makes to bathe with him.”

Groaning again, the Seeker walked away, all the while under the laughing of the Storyteller.

The moment of hilarity rapidly met his end as they were attacked by rabid wolves, near the borders of Dennet’s farm. Elissa didn’t have a good feeling about this.

“No normal wolves would fight with such determination,” Cassandra said once they took care of them and Martel was sniffing the dead animals’ bodies, as if something intrigued him about their smell.

“The Breach may have driven them mad,” Solas informed them, agreeing – without actually agreeing – with the Nevarran. “Or perhaps a demon took command of the pack,” he added.

They decided to go around the farm and to see if there were other surprises of the same type anywhere near it.

-£-

They had found wolves, two rifts spitting demons each time they neared them and some collapsed buildings: some were houses, some were barns and even burning buildings. The Hinterlands didn’t seem like an idyllic place to live anymore.

The drifting thought of how Teagan wanted to give them wine when he had no more lands and no more grapes in his lands entered her mind, but she pushed it away, trying to prioritize – even as her Warden conscience told her Queen conscience alcohol was a priority and to shut up already. As always, it was her Cousland conscience who took matter in hands – so to speak – and told both of the other consciences to take a walk, she was preoccupied with fighting against the invaders of the farmlands.

“I hear the reconstruction is progressing well in Kirkwall,” Cassandra said suddenly, jolting her from her thoughts and the war she launched against her own mind.

Elissa cringed. She knew it was a topic Varric preferred to ignore in conversation. To know that his city was like a glorified mount of rubble with a name after the chaos that had been unleashed in it, had to hurt. She wouldn’t want to talk about Ferelden if it was like that. Fortunately, Ferelden was prospering. If she forgot the Mages-Templars war and the refugees and the rifts and the mood altering of animals and the invasion of their reality by demons and spirits. The good points were that Ferelden wasn’t at war like Orlais or in chaos like the Free Marches.

“I know things are bad there,” the grave voice of Varric answered the Seeker.

It was rare to hear him so serious. It sent shivers down her back.

“I wasn’t trying to –” the Nevarran began to say, before being interrupted by the dwarf.

“You weren’t trying to remind me how bad it is in Kirkwall, so you decided to talk about it?” he asked, disbelief clear in his voice.

“About its recovery,” she rapidly told him.

“What you’re talking about are the buildings, and even that will take years. _People_ don’t recover so easily,” Varric told her shortly, before falling silent and staying that way.

Elissa could attest to that. The Blight had been upon them for a year or more in Ferelden, it wasn’t entirely certain when it began, but it had taken time and a lot of efforts for a lot of people to make the country viable and safe once again. And it was as Ferelden was rapidly growing and prospering when the Breach happened and sent all again into chaos. They would have a break after that. World-ending phenomena didn’t happen normally twice in a lifetime, so it was normal to think they would be safe from these types of events for a good number of years, even centuries, after all that had passed and the world was still present.

-£-

“I suppose this must be Master Dennet’s,” Varric said, making them turn their attention to where he was pointing, a large wooden building.

“It is,” Elissa stated.

She was glad to see the buildings and the farm still standing. Nothing seemed to have been razed to the ground, even the growing cereals were still standing. She spied the farm hands and the wife of Dennet, Elaina, all engrossed in their activities. It gave her an idea, as she wanted to talk to the horsemaster alone.

“There,” she pointed the people to her companions, before giving her orders. “Talk to them and see what they need in compensation for the horses for the Inquisition. If they need help, we’ll give it to them.”

The nodded and went their way, with only Varric giving her a smirk and a look that told her he knew exactly what she was doing.

It was then that she frowned, concerned about this ordering business and the willingness of her companions to follow them. It was as if they took her as the Inquisitor, which was stupid. Even Cassandra. She shrugged her shoulders a little, perturbed but determined to think about it later, and knocked on the front door of the house. The dark face of the horsemaster opened it and Elissa was relived to find him in good health.

“Horsemaster Dennet,” she smiled.

“Yes…?” he looked puzzled for a moment, looking at her features, trying to read something in them.

He seemed to find what he wanted, because his expression cleared and he smiled in response.

“Your Highness,” he said and invited her in his house. “I didn’t know you were in the Hinterlands.”

She sat at the table he indicated and busied himself with making tea.

“I’m not on official business for the Crown,” she explained. “But I’m apparently on official business for the Inquisition.”

“The Inquisition? I’ve received letters from them. They want to try and bring order back. They want to have good mounts for their people, but I couldn’t respond, the surroundings are dangerous since the rifts have appeared and I can’t let my family alone to face the dangers.”

She raised her hand to appease him, to show him she wasn’t here to argue. He frowned.

“Ferelden has joined with the Inquisition?” he asked, then.

“No, not in any official manner,” she vaguely answered.

He gave her the mug of tea he had prepared and sat at the table, facing her. She could sense the weight of his gaze on her. Dennet was a good man and a wise one too. She knew him since before she even took the Crown and Alistair too – since her husband grew up near this place. He always had good council to give about their mounts, be it horses or others. Her own horse back in Denerim – or maybe in the Soldier’s Peak – a black stallion with a fierce temperament was from this land and Dennet’s herd. It was because of all this that she was feeling safe to divulge her secret. She took off the glove she had on her left hand and put her hand with the Mark on the table, palm facing the roof.

She heard the intake of breath before she looked up to see his face. He was wearing an expression of disbelief and awe.

“You’re the Herald of Andraste they talked about everywhere,” he murmured, astonished.

She nodded and busied her hands by taking her mug and taking a sip. She waited for the shock to pass. She was collecting titles left, right and center. It didn’t bode well for her peace of mind or the sanity of it, that was slowly, but surely, being destroyed, bit by little bit.

“Have you any news about Alistair?” she quizzed, trying to think about something else.

He shook his head negatively, a sorrowful expression etched in his face.

“I’m sorry to say with the way things are here, we have no news. Nobody dares to go too far. There are bandits, wolves, demons, mages and templars everywhere,” he informed her. “The last news that reached us, was that Arl Teagan rode off to Denerim to seek help with the King to retake the lands.”

“It is true. Teagan is in Denerim. They’re doing their best with Alistair, but rifts have opened everywhere and it’s the chaos. Whole villages have burned, innocents are hunted down and something evil is gaining power and making us desperate. The Wardens have sensed it and I even had to take them away to protect them.”

“Then, you and Alistair are not protected, if you’re here and in Denerim.”

“We are. Sort of,” she smiled thinly at him. “But even if I am here with the Inquisition, I wanted to ask you for news from here. I have to know what to do to make it better. I’ll be the eyes for Alistair. The King will then make informed decisions regarding the lands.”

“Thank you, My Lady,” he smiled, relieved to have the ears of the Queen to listen to the plight the Hinterlands were suffering from.

Thus, began a long discussion about their needs and their fears, about what they could do and what they couldn’t and the best ways to make everything happen in a timely fashion. All these talks ended with a wistful look from Dennet to her and a question she didn’t really have an answer for.

“The Inquisition,” he asked. “Is it worth it? Is it worth my best horses?”

She returned his look with a serious one. What could she answer? She didn’t even want to be in it and she wasn’t joining it. How could she make her people join it when she herself wasn’t?

“I don’t know,” she answered sincerely, but with a heavy heart.

He nodded and saw her to the door. The man had time to think about it, if he really wanted to join the Inquisition, because the problems he had wouldn’t be resolved in a matter of days. She nodded in return and went out, to find her group ready to depart.

-£-

“What do they want help with, then?” Elissa asked her group as they were eating around their campfire that night.

“Watchtowers to alert them of the dangers,” Cassandra told her.

“They want help with the wolves,” Solas informed her. “Master Dennet’s wife liken them to the animals suffering from the Blight Sickness.”

He tilted his head in a silent question. She shook her head.

“They aren’t affected by it. But they are acting abnormally. We’ll make sure. Better safe than sorry,” she answered him.

They, in fact, took care of the problem the next day, destroying the demon-stick – as she liked to call them – that was controlling the wolves. It was another stupid loss of lives, but the animals didn’t have to be killed, if only there hadn’t been a demon behind all this. It seemed the situation was getting harder to deal with every time she took a step outside her door.

They took weeks after that, but they dealt with the Mages and the Templars. They took down their encampments and used their food and other necessities to provide the refugees. At the end of two weeks of constant fighting, they were finally informed by the Inquisition forces near the Crossroads, that the situation between the Mages and the Templars seemed to have been less forceful the last few days.

Elissa was grateful for the reprieve and ordered her group to pack, they were departing on the morrow.

-£-

The sun was starting to show, its first rays illuminating her face. She enjoyed the moment of silence and the familiar sent of wet mabari and wet grass, before a throat was cleared. She sighed in disappointment.

“Yes?” she asked, without turning around to see who it was.

“We’re ready to go,” Cassandra said to her.

She turned on her heels and saw it was indeed correct. Cassandra, Varric and Solas were ready, their weapons on their backs and belts, and theirs pack closed and full at their feet.

“Great,” she smiled at them. “You can go, then.”

She saw the frown and the realization crossed their faces.

“You’re not coming with us,” stated Varric.

She shook her head.

“I don’t have any purpose in Haven, but to parade in front of people, hand waving. Here, I can be useful,” she explained.

Cassandra’s face was like a thunderstorm, her expression getting darker by the second.

“And after?” she demanded abruptly, her tone short, but she was not yelling. Yet.

“After what? After, I’ll help wherever I can. I want to be of some use and it’s not by staying in Haven, sitting – and freezing – my arse down that I can be useful.”

“What about Val Royaux?” The Seeker continued.

Elissa frowned. She had purposefully forgotten that piece of advice/information/order.

“I’ll go,” she finally responded. “When I’m sure they won’t execute me just for putting a foot in their city. You’ll just have to keep me informed of anything useful. I’ll stay here, just send a raven. I know Leliana has some. And I know she has spies everywhere, so you’ll know where I’ll be if you want to contact me.”

She shooed them, waving both her hands in front of her to make them walk away from here.

“Go!” she exclaimed.

She watched their backs until they disappeared.

Then, she blew a deep breath and sagged against the wood of the little cottage she slept in. Freedom, at last. First thing she would do: write a letter to her husband. Second thing she would do, find a tavern and indulge in mead and ale until she could sleep without nightmare.

She liked freedom. And she liked the fact that she was just a soldier of the Inquisition without a name, and not someone of importance for those that met her.

Free, she sighed. Finally.

-£-


	8. Freedom is Overrated

-£-

She had been on her own for the better part of a month without direct news from Haven and the Inquisition, and she was enjoying every second of it. There was no noble to appease, no faithful to regard her with adoration like the coming of the new hero to worship, no councilor to argue with and no Orlesians to make her day worse. It was peaceful. Sort of.

Of course, her sort of peaceful consisted of fighting Mages and Templars alike. She liked sowing death upon them, as their battles were one of the major reasons the world was in shambles. Their numbers were diminishing by the days: the news of heavy resistance in the Hinterlands were being passed along and there were no new arrival of Mages or Templars to make their numbers more significant.

She had helped hunters to provide food for the refugees, convinced healers to stand down from their mighty pedestal and do some healing instead of looking at people dying every day. She helped build shelters and safeguard the passages for merchants, villagers and all those who needed it on the roads.

And between these actions she took to help her people, she received letters from Alistair and Teagan when she informed them of her situation. It was the first letter she had written since her departure from Soldier’s Peak. And – with a lot of persuasion on her part to make her husband change his mind – she had been reunited with her precious journal, which had, until then, stayed with her fellow Wardens. The messenger had arrived on this day to give it to her, dutifully revealed nothing about her or her identity to anyone else and was on his way by the night to another village to deliver another message from the King.

The journal was one of a kind, a gift from Wynne before she died – peacefully and in her rooms of the Royal Mage-Advisor to the Crown of Ferelden. This journal was a two-way communication device. The other journal was in the possession of her husband. The Enchanter, before dying, had taken upon her to search through books of History to make this journal a reality. Her inspiration had been the mirrors of the elves that were used, a long time ago, to communicate instantly across long distances. It had taken years and an inordinate amount of magic to make them, but Wynne finally did it, with the help of her passenger, her own Spirit of Faith. The day she gave them their journals and explained what they could do, was the day she died.

Elissa kept that day – and the journal – close to her heart. Wynne had been like a mother figure to her and Alistair both. But now that she was reunited with her journal, the ache of missing it, missing Wynne and missing Alistair lessened slightly.

Alistair was afraid her own journal could fall into nasty hands if the worse were to happen – and it was for that reason he had needed a bit a persuasion – but she knew it would be useful, if she was to be his eyes and his ears in their country. He would receive the information at the moment she would write it down and he could, at that point, handle the information however he saw fit, to make a better time of his responses and actions.

Night had fallen on the Crossroads and she was sitting on her bed in her cottage – that she shared with people that preferred to sleep outside to look at the stars and so, were rarely with her – her journal on her thighs, waiting for Alistair to write.

_Hey_ , was the first word she saw and she couldn’t help herself but smiled in response, looking giddy, even alone in the room.

_Hey_ , she wrote down. _The night is young, are you sure the children are sleeping in their room?_

_Nope_ , he answered and she swore she could almost see his silly grin on his face. _But tonight, the nannies will be more than capable of handling it._

_Oh? Better things to do than to look after your own sons and daughters?_

_Yes._

She laughed until her throat hurt.

Their conversation went like that for a long moment as they reminisced about better days and hoped for a better future. She told him about her journey from the Fade to Redcliffe where she was now, and he told her about the happenings of the Court, the jokes of their mischievous children and the news from around the kingdom.

_Teagan wanted your opinion about what to do about his lands_ , Alistair wrote sometimes later.

_Something is not right in Redcliffe_ , she responded, considerately looking out the little window as she organized her thoughts. _Tell him to stay in Denerim for now, until I uncover what is happening here. There are movements of people, but I don’t know where they are coming from and I have a feeling that there is something dreadful going on._

_I’ll pass the message along to him_ , Alistair agreed. _I had news about the Inquisition. I received a letter from Leliana._

His short sentences were all she needed to know about the contents of such a letter. She grimaced at the journal, imagining the Spymaster furiously writing it.

_Let me guess_ , she wrote. _She’s complaining about my lack of investment in the Inquisition? If so, her spies don’t do a very good job of reporting, do they? I sealed several rifts around here. Demons are scarcer now._

She thought her husband could be chuckling now and she smiled a little in return.

_Yes_ , he replied. _And she complained about my lack of marital duties, because I just couldn’t make you a better Andrastian or some such nonsense._

Elissa sighed in disappointment. If Leliana was saying that, she was more than furious. And next time she saw her, as a Cousland and a Therein, it was her duty to make sure the Bard kept it above the belt when she was insulting her. It was one thing to attack her, it was another to attack her husband and her family.

_I think I’ll receive a letter soon_ , she acknowledged. _Cassandra, Varric and Solas must have been in Haven for enough time to report and send a letter my way. I imagine I’ll look for a raven in the days to follow._

-£-

She had been right. The next day, she saw a raven transporting a message. It went straight to her. She received it with bad grace, gifting the bird with a glare, glare that was returned twofold. Elissa laughed a sharp and bitter laugh: the councilors of the Inquisition must have chosen this animal for its bad temper she was sure. That was petty! But she could do petty. She, thus, named the raven Meany and nicknamed it Niny. He nicked her fingers before flying off to the nearest tree and stayed there, all the while glaring at her.

She turned her back to him and opened the letter.

She was surprised to see it wasn’t a letter from the councilors, but from Varric. The dwarf was narrating the events that happened in Haven to her, to keep her informed, he said, as they had an agreement of a sort. She smiled. She knew there was a reason she liked the Storyteller.

He was saying temperaments were fast deteriorating in Haven between the Mages and the Templars, to the point that the Commander had to intervene to settle them many times a day and that Chancellor Roderick wasn’t arranging things with his spiteful words – that rat, she spat. He told her that the councilors were unsure on how to proceed with the delegation to Orlais to confront the Chantry clerics and didn’t know who to turn to for help with the Breach. Their number of allies were short and they didn’t have the advantage of having the Herald on hand to ask for advice or for help or to fight their battles for them. He wrote about a Marquis DuRellion – ha!  that damned profiteer – that wanted to claim lordship over Haven – over her dead body! She snarled in her mind – and who was seen arguing with the Lady Josephine.

Just because the man had married a Fereldan woman didn’t mean he could claim Haven! Didn’t he know how the lordships were obtained? She told herself not to forget to write to Alistair about that. He had to remind the Marquis and make him understand who was King here and who was Vassal and so, who was the ultimate owner of the lands and who had the right to accept or not people on their lands.

What the people were capable of when all seemed to fall to pieces… And they wondered why she didn’t have more faith in the people sometimes. She was just realist and saw what others refused – voluntarily or involuntarily – to see.

Varric continued his letter by giving her an account of people coming in Haven, merchants organizing their goods and selling them, soldiers and Templars being driven to the ground by a relentless Commander Rutherford, who seemed to calm his nerves by training. The dwarf noted that the village appeared less joyful without her presence, somehow, and he attributed it by her absence from the full view of the faithful, who were moody and unsure because of it.

He finished by writing that he took a raven from Leliana, without her knowing, but that apparently, there was a reason the raven wasn’t being used to transport letters. He didn’t know why, the bird had seemed like a normal one and a likeable one at that, but in case the raven started acting strange, it was maybe normal and to not worry about it.

She grunted in exasperation when she reached the end of the long message, rolled her eyes and gave the stink eye to the said bird, who gave it back to her. She huffed loudly and entered her cottage, closing firmly the door behind her – lest the pest raven went inside to mock her.

Now, what did she have to do? She had to think about the letter and the news it carried.

She would have to go to Orlais. That was one of the things she was sure of. But the Orlesians were slow and needed time for whatever they were doing. The death of Divine Justinia was recent, it meant they could wait for a little longer. Also, there was the matter of her execution if she put a foot there. If they knew who she really was, there would be a lot of talk and anger and the political consequences could be dire.

For the moment, she would concentrate on what was happening in Redcliffe as she was already here.

Maybe she could send a reply via Meany to give them advice or her response to her intention to go to Orlais, finally, after weeks of silence? That way, the damned bird wouldn’t glare at her like she was an ugly bug and the Inquisition would let her do as she pleased if she ultimately fulfilled her role as the Herald and went to Orlais to talk to the clerics there – even if she knew the results of this talk would be that, in the best of case, she and her companions would walk away with their lives, but would walk away utterly alone and without a cleric in sight.

As she thought about it, she didn’t even know what her role was, because nobody informed her of _what_ that role was exactly. Not that she minded as she could improvise perfectly on her own.

She wrote a carefully worded letter to send to Haven, saying she would be making her way to Orlais soon enough and to send a delegation from the Inquisition to meet her on her way there and she gave them several dates and inquired when the best one would be to meet the delegation. She didn’t forget to remind them that she wouldn’t be a very useful Herald if she was to be killed upon sight in Val Royeaux and that killing someone like her – she didn’t precise who she was, as Josephine didn’t know yet, but the three other councilors would understand – could send countries into a merciless war.

There, she signed the letter with her new title, as the Herald. That would placate the councilors and give her time to investigate Redcliffe more deeply in the meantime.

-£-

When she recognized the robes and the attitude, she saw red and felt the fury heating her blood, making her crave their death with an intensity that frightened her.

These people had no rights coming here and they would be evicted from these lands in forceful manners if they didn’t comply with her demands, with the demands of the rightful Monarchs of this nation. Tevinter Mages – slavers, the lot of them – had no places in her beloved Ferelden. She had to talk to Alistair – and Teagan.

But before taking arms, maybe there was another way to resolve all of this peacefully. She noticed a lot of the people – mages – that were in Redcliffe, didn’t seem to be too pleased with this arrangement. In fact, a lot of them gave the impression to be scared. Some of them were only children and that pulled a chord in her. She made her way back to the Crossroads, making sure nobody was following her or her tracks.

_Alistair_ , she wrote immediately reaching her little cottage. _Problems. I know what’s happening._

She kept the journal open on the page and her eyes on her own writing, impatiently waiting for it to disappear, notifying her that Alistair had received and read the sentences.

It took the better part of the morning and at that time, she was pacing nervously in her room, hands going to her hairs in disarray, making them fly every which way. Finally, after hours of waiting, her writing disappeared and she let out a breath, before slumping on her bed in exhaustion.

_What’s going on?_ He asked immediately.

_Tevinter Mages are in Redcliffe. I think they took the Mages from here as slaves._

There was a long silence and Elissa knew her husband was cursing colorfully and loudly, wherever he was in the Denerim Palace. She hoped the children were nowhere in his immediate surroundings to hear him swear like a sailor – and yes, she was mighty proud of the fact she had been the one to teach him most these words.

_What else?_ He demanded tersely.

_I think a Magister is involved. They are organized and have money. I don’t know more. But the Mages from here are desperate and afraid of these Imperium Mages._

_This is something that can’t be solved by my being in Denerim. I’ll make my way to Redcliffe at dawn, tomorrow. With Teagan. He will need to be there to retake control of his lands._

She approved the plan. And even if the matter was actually quite grave, she couldn’t help but add something to Alistair.

_Then, I will see you soon, husband mine_ , she wrote with a smile.

_And I’ll see you sooner, wife mine_ , he replied.

She closed the journal and prepared for the arrival of Alistair. She would need to gather information about the goings on inside Redcliffe. She would make use of Martel.

-£-

The meeting took place in an isolated place in Redcliffe, near the harbor. The sound of the waves hitting the wood of the docks would be of use to hide their conversation.

Elissa had won the cooperation of one of the mages. He was from Ferelden and was frightened and frantic to find another arrangement than the one they currently were involved in, with the Magister from the Imperium.

To try to know more, they had agreed to a meeting at this place. Elissa had been waiting for hours now. She had decided to show up early – very early – just to see if there would be a spy or other unsavory people trying to sneak past them to listen to their discussion. She had seen no one. She was feeling better with the meeting then. It could all have been a trap, but the man had seemed truly terrified and sincere, when she last talked to him.

“Hector,” she finally called from the shadows when the nervous man walked past her.

The mage whirled around, eyes rolling wildly in their sockets in fright. Elissa let him calm himself and when he finally focused his gaze on her, he sighed in relief.

“Lys,” he answered with the name she had given.

He had a baritone voice that rumbled pleasantly in the chilly air of the early night. She nodded and signaled him to accompany her further away from where they stood. He followed.

They arrived near the end of the docks where she silently sat down and let her feet dangle above the water of the lake. He did likewise and they stayed quiet, looking at the sun that would soon be below the horizon.

“So, how many friends do you have?” she began the conversation with a lighthearted tone.

She saw him gulped and grip his hands in anxiousness, trying to stop the shaking or trying to make it less obvious.

“Many,” his voice didn’t show any of the feelings his hands were demonstrating. She was impressed. “Many of them are children. They are just so innocent.”

“I see,” and she did see. She mused the words in her head. “Do they play? In the Castle, I mean.”

“No, but some might not be opposed to the idea of playing,” he replied, eyebrows furrowed in a perplexed expression.

“Good,” she nodded.

If they were in the Castle, they could maybe try to take the hidden passage and followed it until they arrived in the Mill. From there, it would be easier to maneuver the many people they were and move them somewhere more conspicuous, where nobody would try to cease them again. Maybe in Denerim? After all, Alistair and herself had given their permission for the Mages to seek refuge here, even if some of them were repaying them by destroying the surrounding lands.

She sensed Hector was starting to fidget. The poor mage seemed unaccustomed to this type of conversation and she could only guess that he wanted direct answers. With a glance around and noticing nobody, she turned her body partially toward him, to better face and see him.

“We’re alone for the moment. Talk,” she ordered him.

“I don’t know how or why you would help us, but if you can manage it, we would be eternally thankful,” he told her.

“The only thanks I want to get are for the Mages to stop trying to take over these lands and burning them and for the Templars to stop being idiots for two seconds,” she retorted astringently, before closing her mouth. “Forgive me,” she murmured.

He chortled. It was not the response she was waiting for.

“No, you are entirely right. We’ve been welcomed here and for that, we swore to repay our Monarchs in kind, but we did nothing of the sort. However,” he continued, morose and sad. “We are not used to be able to do what we want. The Circles have always been our home and our prison. To think for ourselves is difficult and we are anxious to find help for that reason. That is why,” he turned to her, serious and wary. “I need to know why you want to help. Is it to make us go back to the Circle? To make us slaves too, but to another master?”

She debated the merit of revealing her identity. She had a good feeling about Hector, but was she ready for that? Oh, what the Fade, Alistair would soon be here, he could mend fences and oust the Imperium and deal with the Mages – and the Templars – if she could not anymore.

“Because,” she started slowly, thinking of her words before saying them. “When my husband and I offered sanctuary for the Mages in here, and when Teagan accepted, it was not to see you reduced as slaves. Not for us and certainly not for the Imperium,” she spat the last word as if it was venom in her mouth.

Beside her, she could sense the stiffening of the Mage, his shoulders rigids, his posture tense and she could see the downward curve of his mouth. His eyes were looking at her, beyond her.

“What you say is the truth,” he murmured after a few seconds, in a dumbfounded voice.

He slumped a little, as if tired from a draining ordeal. She let him gather his thoughts.

“I have been sent by the other Mages,” he announced. “Not because I wanted to and not because I believed in anyone that said she wanted to help us: ‘once bitten, twice shy’ as goes the saying. I was sent, because I have a very useful gift. I am not powerful in the art of magic, but I can read the intentions of a person, learn when that person is truthful and when she is not.”

She drew slow and measured breaths, forcing her body not to react at this revelation, even if she wanted to grit her teeth against the betrayal she was feeling.

“But,” the Mage continued. “You are truthful, or believe to be right, in any case. I will accept your aid. And,” he added as an afterthought. “I can only say how sorry I am about what happened here.”

“Great,” she answered back, a little shortly.

He said nothing in return, but she could see the thin line his mouth became at her tone.

“Lys,” he said unexpectedly. “Why that name?”

“Because that is a surname of mine, for friends,” she replied, calming her temper to embers and not the raging fire it was a few seconds ago. “Elissa. Lys.”

He opened his mouth in a ‘O’ of surprise and she smiled a little.

“We must reconvene this meeting,” she said next, her voice more formal and more urgent as she sensed they had been together for a too long time. “Next time will be to tell you what you will have to do. Here, in a week.”

He bowed his head gently and respectfully, before returning to wherever the Mages were at this hour.

-£-

In the week that followed, she arranged for the escape of the Mages. She debated whether she wanted help from the Inquisition soldiers that would alert Haven of her goals, before she scolded herself: lives were at stakes here, informing the Inquisition spies of what she’ll do counted less than to save the Mages from the Imperium.

And so, with that thought in mind, she began recruiting their help. It was fast how they followed her orders when the recognized her as the Herald of Andraste. They accepted what she told them as face value, as if she could do no wrong, as if she could not lie or use them as she saw fit. She felt a little guilty about that, but reminded herself it was to save lives.

Hidden shelters had been built to welcome the escaping Mages. Healers were waiting for casualties or to see to the good health of them and the children, because being slave didn’t seem like a good time for relaxation. With the fighting Templars and fighting Mages in disarray, they had enough food for more people, but they began doubling the reserve nonetheless, by sending more hunters in the wilds and stocking more berries in their sheds. The Crossroads were a busy hive of activities and she was proud. Proud of the cooperation, proud of the people.

Since she explained to Alistair her plan, they had been reviewing the finer points of it. They were coordinating, so he could arrive at the opportune moment and to end all hostilities. He was riding and, accompanying him, were the fastest soldiers he had been able to find. They were all on mounts to minimize their time on the road. He had managed to rally them in a night, in Denerim. She was impressed despite herself of his tenacity and the alacrity of the soldiers to respond to their Sovereign.

She also forced herself to not think about her children, alone in the Palace. She wasn’t sure if she was more afraid for them or for the Palace, however. She just hoped it – and they – would be still standing when Alistair would be making his way back there.

-£-

It was the night of the new meeting and she was sitting on the docks, waiting for Hector to show up. When he got there, he sat down next to her and began without waiting. His voice sounded frustrated and anxious.

“We do not know where our Grand Enchanter is,” he told her, crisp and edgy.

“Was he here last week?” she asked, because if there was a traitor in their midst, they might have to move their plan up.

“She,” he corrected. “And no. Nobody’s seen Fiona in the last ten days. I don’t know where she is. She wouldn’t abandon us, I am sure of that, but I… just don’t know.”

“Okay,” she forced herself to remain calmed and collected as to not further agitate the Mage. “Since we don’t know what happened to her, we’ll have to move fast. We must consider all possibilities. She was here for my call to meet with the Mages, she might then know something more.” She thought about their plan, the cogs whirring and connecting in her mind. “In two days. You’ll have to escape in two days.”

She grabbed the pouch at her belt and gave it to Hector.

“This, is a key to the hidden passage between the Castle and the Mill. Hidden inside are sleeping herbs to facilitate your escape. Use them wisely. The passage is also your only exit. You’ll have to be swift and silent. Allies, disguised, will wait for you at the end of the passage. Follow them if they have with them a mabari, who answers to the name of Martel. Follow them until you find yourself with Inquisition soldiers. They will take you to safe and hidden places. You’ll remain there until your leaders can talk with the King.”

He took the pouch with shaking fingers. Elissa said nothing about it.

“What about those in here, in the city?” he questioned.

She pinched her lips.

“They will be given the choice to follow or not. My allies will scout the city and search for them at the same time you escape.”

“And what happens after that?” he asked after a long moment of silence, with only the sound of the water and the gentle waves in their ears.

“After that, the King arrives.”

-£-

The plan was a good one. She knew Martel would bring the Mages to the Inquisition soldiers. If there was to be a problem, her loyal mabari could take care of it, with the help of Mages and of soldiers. She could also trust the people she had sent in the city, trying to round up every mage they could find that did not appear to have Tevinter ties – and that had been a lot of effort on her and her allies part, because they had followed and spied on everyone to see if there could be a traitor in their midst.

The only hitch in their plan that she feared, was the reaction of the Tevinter Mages. They could be violent and cruel and knew how to cause damages. After all, they had slaves and saw the worth of a man or woman in money and usefulness only. She had no illusions about Tevinter. Not like Orlais, where it _was_ all illusions, but the Orlesians were allies of a sort.

It was because she had a bad feeling about the Magister that she was making her way up to Redcliffe Castle, using the shadows, the trees and the bushes to hide herself. There was no alarm, so for the moment all was well. Or so she thought, until a throat cleared. Just next to her.

She didn’t think, didn’t look, just grabbed her dagger at her belt and was swinging before she could comprehend anything. A cry answered her and then the flash of magic made her blink. Next thing she knew, she was lying on the ground, unharmed, but weaponless and with a man sitting not far from her, looking at her with amusement in his eyes.

“Hello darling,” he smiled winningly at her, and his teeth were gleaming in his face with olive skin.

She sat suddenly, making him jump to his feet and back away from her a few steps, wary of her rapid movements. He had his hands in the air, showing them to her.

“I don’t want to harm you,” he told her. “I just want to talk. I know what you’re doing.”

She bit back a nasty curse word and a sarcastic reply. She seized how dangerous he could be with a look. He was from Tevinter. And he was a Mage.

“My name is Dorian, of House Pavus, but most recently, of Minrathous,” he presented himself with a little bow and a smirk. “I am from the Imperium as you well know. And I know what you are doing here. It won’t work, you know.”

“What do you know?” she spat and searched for her weapons.

“You’re making swift the escape of the Mages. And trying to find the Magister here. He’s not. Here, I mean. Alexius is not present for the moment. There’s just… me.”

She stopped her fruitless search and looked at the Mage. There was something in his gaze… Something in his attitude… Her eyes opened in disbelief when she understood.

“You’re escaping too!” she exclaimed.

“Shhhhh!” he shushed her, before looking around to see if there were any eavesdroppers nearby who had heard them. “And I am not,” he protested with a pout. “Not… totally.”

She snorted. Escaping was escaping.

“Can I come with you?” he pleaded in a fake tiny voice.

“Do you take me for a fool?” she asked him, regaining her feet.

“Here, if I let you your weapons, promise not to kill me. I just want to talk,” he told her before giving her back all her weapons.

She strapped them back on her person after giving them all a cursory look to search for any sign of tampering. Once done, she gave her undivided attention to the Tevinter Mage.

“Where is this Alexius, then?” she demanded.

He sighed.

“He’s not there yet. He must be on his way. He’ll be there soon enough. I want to be gone before that.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Why?” she wanted to know. There was _something_ in his tone that hinted to a matter of personal history, but she didn’t know what type.

“Well,” he drawled, making the word sound long and cynical. “I may have stolen something from him. You have to understand, it is something bad and I don’t know what exactly, but it’s not anything that you want to let in his hands. And when I heard something about escaping the Castle, I thought, maybe I should do the same, you know. And he doesn’t know I am here.”

“What did you steal?”

“I don’t know,” he answered and for the first time, she could hear a genuine tone of frustration in his voice. “But Alexius wanted to use it soon enough.”

“Here?” she wanted him to confirm, because if it was true, the Magister would answer to that, to the threat of bringing something dangerous in her country.

“Yes,” he nodded, solemn.

“What do you want?” she finally asked.

“Safe passage with you, until I can find my way back to Tevinter,” he responded quickly.

“How do I know to trust you and your word? You might be a spy, you might be here to cause damage with this thing you’ve stolen,” she retorted.

He placed a hand on his heart and bowed low.

“I do hereby swear on my honor to never use the device I stole and to not harm you or any you consider your ally. On my honor and the honor of my House, House Pavus.”

That sounded like an oath to her ears, but she didn’t know too much about Tevinter – apart from their Blights – to recognize if it was a legal one or not. She breathed deeply, searching her feelings for what she had to do.

“Okay, you can come with me.”

She was screwed and Alistair would have her hide when he learned of what she just did.

-£-

There was agitation in the Castle in the days that followed the escape of the Mages, but nobody went out of the building and searched for them. Elissa supposed it was because the Tevinter slavers didn’t want to reveal their presence just yet. She asked Dorian about it and he nodded in agreement of her analysis.

“Why are we here, anyway?” the Mage wanted to know. “Why not go away to somewhere that is not here, where Alexius will return?”

“Because this is my lands and I can’t abandon my people to this Magister,” she responded distractedly, eyeing the Castle she could see from afar.

The silence was heavy with disbelief. She rethought about what she just told him and whirled on her feet, when she understood that she just outed herself. Dorian was looking at her with new eyes and something like respect shining in them.

“Your lands,” he breathed. “I knew there was something about you…” He slapped his thighs and laughed. “That is priceless. A Tevinter Mage and the Warden-Queen as allies.”

“Do shut up, nobody knows that!” she snapped.

He calmed down.

“And what is your plan, then?” he asked again.

“We’re waiting for the King to show up,” she sighed before letting herself fall on the grass.

She picked some and began idly playing with it.

“Oh. I didn’t know your plan was _that_ elaborate,” he told her and copied her by sitting down next to her.

“Yes. And after we retake Redcliffe, I have to go to Orlais.”

_Why_ was she opening up to Dorian? She only knew him for less than two days and here she was, talking to him as if he was an old friend.

“Oooh, can I come too?” he exclaimed like a little child. “I’ve always wanted to look at those ugly dresses and clothes the men and women wear there!”

“And what?” she snorted a laugh. “Compare the sense of fashion between Tevinter and Orlais?” She looked him up and down. “Well, one thing is for certain, I’ll never adopt the fashion sense of both countries.”

Dorian seemed to be honestly hurt by that.

“What’s wrong with what I wear?” he asked instead, taking the fine clothe between his fingers.

“Nothing. It’s just not… practical. We, in Ferelden, don’t need to look richer than the next one,” she explained to him.

“Herald!” someone called her.

She raised her head at the same time she heard Dorian coughing loudly next to her. She returned her attention to the scout.

“The King is here.”

She stood up, Dorian rapidly following her. The scout returned to his duties and she was going to go welcome her husband when a hand on her arm stopped her.

“Wait,” Dorian called. “You’re the one they like to call the Herald of Andraste, too?” he asked in flabbergasted incredulity.

“Well, I’m just that lucky,” she replied with a bitter tone.

He stayed standing where he was and she walked away.

-£-

She bowed low.

“King Alistair,” she greeted formally.

“Herald,” he replied as he descended from his horse.

They moved swiftly to the cottage she claimed for her. Inside, they both took their time to look at the other, to note the changes. And then:

“Husband mine,” she smiled.

“Wife mine,” he answered.

And they were hugging for all they were worth.

-£-

She invited Dorian that night for diner. He would be a useful source of information for Alistair and her about the whereabouts of the Magister Alexius. He had accepted the offer.

They were discussing matters about the state of the Castle and the number of Tevinter inside the walls, all the while eating and indulging in diluted wine, when Meany rapped against the window.

Elissa swore and shot a glare at the bird. He had a nasty habit to interrupt her whenever she was doing something important. She was sure the pest knew it too and took pleasure in this fact.

She went to the window, grabbed the letter and closed the window against his beak when he tried to nip her hand. She took great satisfaction to see the bird flapping his wings inelegantly to regain his equilibrium and croaking a warning or a curse in raven tongue.

She however lost her mirth when she saw it was a letter from Varric.

Things would be getting unpleasant, she felt.

She opened the letter without further ado and read the simple words.

_Herald_ , it said. _The Seeker has gone to Orlais, alone. I don’t know what she was thinking, but I fear nothing good will come from this. You’ll need to meet her there. The Commander and the Nightingale are getting desperate. Chuckles and I will meet you en route._

What the Fade was Cassandra thinking? She thought agitatedly.

“I need to go to Orlais,” she told Alistair.

He nodded, like he had already guessed.

“I can take care of things here, you know me,” he smiled at her.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, you dunce,” she replied with a smirk.

He mock grabbed his heart as if she just stabbed him there. He turned to Dorian.

“I would ask that you stay with me, Dorian Pavus of House Pavus, to try to talk some sense in Magister Alexius. You know him, you know what might make him change his mind, before I have to take drastic measures to make him go away from my lands and my country.”

Oh, she loved it when Alistair went all alpha male. It was unfortunate she couldn’t stay with him. They didn’t even had a whole day for them to reunite.

“I would be honored, My Lord,” Dorian answered, seriously.

And then, totally embarrassed Alistair by winking at him and giving him a lecherous smirk. Elissa saw her poor husband going red in the face, before she laughed loudly and slapped Dorian none too gently.

“No stealing my husband, Tevinter,” she admonished him.

“No stealing, but you could lend him to me,” he continued.

She shook her head, exasperated. She was surrounded by children.

-£-


	9. For Worse and Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers, I'd like to thank you all for your faithfulness concerning this story! It's really great to see that some like to read it and it's encouragement to write the rest of the story. As it is, more chapters have been written, but I don't know when I will post them, as I have a tendency to erase some passages and remaking them to satisfy me and my plot. And yes, I have a plot in mind.
> 
> You have maybe noticed that some things change from the canon of Inquisition and that is normal. A lot of things happen in Ferelden and in the game, where only the Inquisition intervened and that, I find it a bit unlikely.  
> I understand, from the point of view of the gamemaker, because it's us - our character the Inquisitor - that have to solve all of this. But the Inquisition is allied to the countries - for me anyway - and with an Hardened!Alistair on the throne and ten years of ruling Ferelden, I don't see how he can just take all of the happenings in Ferelden lying down and wait for the Inquisition to do something. It's not realistic of his character. Now, if his wife Warden-Queen was in the Inquisition, he would be more inclined to trust it, but it doesn't mean he won't let all the unrest go that easily.  
> So, the story has been written/is being written with that in mind.
> 
> Cheers, people, and enjoy! I hope you have as great a time reading my story as I have writing it!

-£-

When they met again, Varric, Solas and her took little time to reunite and where galloping hard and fast toward Orlais and Val Royeaux soon after. Cassandra had many days on them and she would not enter the city alone to face the angry might of the Chantry clerics. She might have been a Seeker under orders of the Chantry at one time, but she was now an Inquisition Councilor, and Elissa would remind her of that fact once they found her. She couldn’t divide her loyalty between the Chantry and the Inquisition.

And if she was feeling truthful with herself in a tiny part of her mind, it was why she didn’t want to join the Inquisition. To divide her loyalty and her time was like betraying Ferelden, she felt, and she wasn’t ready for that.

Varric was his cheerful self on the way and she enjoyed the dwarf constant chatter and good humor. It had been something she had missed having, good company. It was fortunate for her that he was like that, because without distraction, she missed Martel. With the speed they needed to make to go to Orlais, she had preferred to let her canine friend in the Hinterlands with Alistair. Like that, her husband would have a protection of sort, if someone tried to kill him.

Solas was his serious and dignified self, only speaking when spoken to, when he had a reproach to do, or when he had a history lesson to impart to his audience. She understood better why Varric called him Chuckles: the elf didn’t know the definition of it, all serious and proper like he was. She didn’t felt very dignified next to him, and she was of noble birth, the female with the highest status in Ferelden, and the one with many titles… And Solas had none of that. Not even shoes.

But he had no sense of humor, so she couldn’t, in good conscience, develop an inferiority complex. Varric agreed with her.

They didn’t appreciate their journey, rapid as it was. However, they reached Cassandra before she was in the city and thought it was a rather good exchange, all things considered.

-£-

Cassandra was not in a good mood. They had found her, sitting alone on a wooden log, not far from Val Royeaux. She looked preoccupied and deep in thoughts. She didn’t even payed attention to their arrival. The woman could have been ambushed by anybody, Elissa reflected with annoyance.

“Cassandra?” she called the Seeker, keeping at bay her aggravation.

The Nevarran snapped her head up and looked at Elissa like she just grew two heads.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her accent more pronounced due to her rising stress levels.

“Getting to Orlais to talk to the clerics, rescuing a Seeker from foolish ideas and hopefully, not getting killed on sight,” Elissa answered sardonically and with a disapproving tone that the Seeker didn’t appear to get.

Cassandra rose from her seat and made their way to them. Her shoulders were slumped forward, her attitude defeated.

“I have news about the Templars,” she announced in a level voice. “They want to leave the city.”

A moment of silence and:

“What?” it was Varric who exclaimed.

“They don’t want to be under the control of the Chantry anymore. They want to leave. Lord Seeker Lucius is at their head,” she explained.

“How do you know that?” Elissa demanded.

“I was there when they made their way back to the city. It was an old friend, who told me. He wasn’t sure, but… I – I don’t know what to think,” she said with a lost air on her usually hard face.

“We’ll think on it later. First, we’ll go do what we are here to do,” stated Elissa.

-£-

“The City still mourns,” the Seeker told them when the silence became oppressive and they saw no one around to welcome them.

A couple walking down the street saw them and froze on their feet. Elissa met their stares with one of her own and that sent them running in the opposite direction. Well, she thought. So much for being the Herald of Andraste.

“Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are,” Varric stated.

“Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric,” Cassandra answered, sarcastically.

Elissa was fascinated. She didn’t know the woman knew how to be sarcastic. Maybe it was the depressed mood that was making her like that. Would she take it like an insult if she suggested to the Nevarran to be depressed more often?

Yes, certainly. She would not say a word then. She would keep it as ammunition against the woman for the right moment, a moment when Cassandra would be more unbearable than normal.

An Inquisition scout met them on their way to the Market Place where there seemed to be more people.

“My Lady Herald,” she welcomed, kneeling on the ground in a respectful move, but her demeanor and anxious words suggested all was not well in the city of Val Royeaux.

“You’re one of Leliana’s people,” Cassandra recognized. “What have you found?”

“The Chantry Mothers await you, but… So do a great many Templars,” the scout informed them.

Elissa glanced at Cassandra. The face of the Seeker had shut down and it was now like a blank canvas.

“What about the Templars?” she decided to ask when the Nevarran made no effort to continue her questioning.

“People seem to think the Templars will protect them from… from the Inquisition,” the scout hesitated. “They’re gathering on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the Templars intend to meet you.”

“Only one thing to do, then,” Cassandra said and began walking toward their doom, or so was the feeling Elissa had.

They were going, no faster than before, as if they had all the time in the world.

“I don’t know what their game is,” declared Cassandra. “But it is not to protect the people from us. It is not,” she added, like she was trying to convince herself.

Elissa decided not to say anything to that.

-£-

They had reached the crowd of city dwellers, who were standing in front of a platform, where a Mother was with her armed escort of Templars, when the said Mother began stirring the crowd by shouting nonsense in their minds.

Unfortunately, her nonsensical words were all the crowd needed to believe her.

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me! Together we mourn our Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more! Behold the so-called herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say, this is a false prophet! No servant of anything beyond her selfish greed!”

Her accent was hurtful to her ears, Elissa decided. Orlesians were terrible with accents and they never even tried to talk another language. Too invested in themselves, weren’t they? Arrogant people. They didn’t even try to better their awful accent.

“We came here in peace, simply to talk – and this is what you do?” she protested in the lull created at the end of the Mother’s speech. “Who’s the treacherous one, I wonder!”

She snorted in her head. Chantry clerics, indeed! No wonder she didn’t like them. The majority was like this mother, ready to believe anything, without thinking beforehand.

“It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!” Cassandra cried to the Mother and the mass of people amassed around them to see the spectacle that was their lives.

“It is already too late!” the Mother yelled, before looking on her left.

The Templars were coming. Elissa turned towards them and immediately noticed a difference. There was _something_ … She sniffed the air, like a mabari and was elbowed in the gut by Varric. She straightened her posture, but kept her gaze locked on the Templars, while her nose twitched in discomfort. There was something different about them… But what?

“The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this “Inquisition”, and the people will be safe once more!” the Mother said, relieved, for the crowd.

The cleric was then knocked out by one of the men – not in any Templar armor, Elissa noticed – who was, without a doubt, without honor, as the man hit her from behind. And he hadn’t even hesitated about hitting a Mother. Wasn’t it against the Templars teachings, to hit a defenseless woman, who was a Mother?

“Still yourself,” the apparent leader called to everyone and went to reassure the Templar that had been guarding the Mother and was looking shell-shocked about the proceedings. “She is beneath us.”

“Oh well,” Elissa drawled over the loud crowd. “I was about to do that myself.”

“As if I would do anything for _your_ pleasure,” snapped the Templar, before descending from the stage and walking away.

“No? Your loss,” she answered with a tone so indifferent to them all she silently questioned if she really didn’t have a care in the world.

“Lord Seeker Lucius,” Cassandra called to the man, starting after him. “It’s imperative that we speak with –”

“You will not address me,” he cut the Nevarran, with an abrupt tone.

Cassandra slowed down, until she stopped altogether and stood there, uncertain, astonished and hurting.

“Lord Seeker?” she asked again, demanding mutely why he was acting that way.

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s Prophet. You should be ashamed,” the Lord Seeker was saying as Elissa made her way next to Cassandra to support her in this hour.

Ha! She had told them that too! She wasn’t the only one to think Leliana and Cassandra wanted a puppet to control at the Inquisition head. Too bad she had only bad vibes from this Lucius Templar, they could have gone for a drink and talk about manipulating someone.

“You should all be ashamed!” he continued to rage. “The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the Mages! You are the ones who have failed! You, who’d leashed our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only Destiny here that demands respect is mine.”

“Then, why are you here?” Elissa intervened, because her ears were bleeding from all the conceit and arrogance he was spewing. “To gloat over those that seek only protection? And you consider yourself to be righteous?”

“But Lord Seeker…” a brave Templar – the one who had been guarding the Mother and who seemed to be the more open-minded of the lot – asked Lucius. “What if she really was sent by the Maker? What if –?”

“You are called to a higher purpose! Do not question!” interrupted one of the men, menace dripping from his words.

“ _I_ will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the Void. _We_ deserve recognition. Independence!” avowed the Lord Seeker.

Cassandra clamed up right then and there, straight back as she was. The Templars showed their loyalty to the Lord Seeker by putting a hand to their heart.

An insidious voice in her mind reminded her it was all the Chantry’s fault anyway, if events deteriorated like that. It was them that had the Mages prisoners in Circles and the Templars prisoners of their drug.

“You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition… less than nothing,” he declared. “Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!”

And they departed, under the astonished and fearful gazes of the inhabitants of the city.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Varric said as he approached them, as they watched the Templars making their way out of the City.

“Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?” Cassandra exclaimed at last, in apparent disbelief.

“Fortunately, the Templars aren’t the only group of people we can ask for help,” Elissa announced in the silence.

“I wouldn’t write them off so quickly,” the Nevarran told her. “There must be those in the Order who see what he’s become. Either way, we should first return to Haven and inform the others.”

Elissa didn’t agree or disagree with that statement. Instead, she made her way to the fallen Mother on the dais.

“This victory must please you greatly, Seeker Cassandra,” the Mother told the Nevarran with a sneer on her face.

Even though she was hurting, she had the strength to sneer. Her hate toward the Inquisition must be great indeed.

“We came here, seeking only to speak with the Mothers,” Cassandra answered, her voice and face collected, even after all the commotion. Elissa was proud: the Seeker was learning the fine art of blank faces and statements. “This is not our doing, but yours.” Elissa shook her head as she took back what she had thought about Cassandra: the woman was a political catastrophe.

“And you had no part in forcing our hand?” the Mother retorted. “Do not delude yourself. Now we have been shown up by our own Templars, in front of everyone. And my fellow clerics have scattered to the winds, along with their convictions.”

She looked up at them, from her sitting position on the dais and surrounded by two Chantry clerics, before her eyes went and fixed on Elissa.

“Just tell me one thing: do you truly believe you are the Maker’s Chosen?” the Mother asked.

Her tone had been near enough gentle to make Elissa mad after the whole showdown this Mother had orchestrated. And so, instead of being gentle in return, she crossed her arms against her chest, looked down at the Mother and scoffed loudly in irritation and in a mocking manner.

“Why do you care, now? Because you have nobody anymore on your side? No Templars, no Mages, no Clerics and no people to hear you, to work for you and do your tyrannical will?”

“Herald!” Cassandra’s voice was full of reproach.

Elissa breathed deeply and calmed her raging thoughts. She kneeled next to the Mother and eyed her with a cool expression.

“I will ask you a question, Mother, and I wait for a truthful answer. Why do you believe?”

“Because we have been educated in the Words of the Maker –”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Elissa, cutting the Mother, who looked at her as if she looked at the result of a purulent illness. “You went to school, received an education, listen to somebody ramble on and on about the Maker, Andraste… Now. Let me ask you another question. In what do you believe?”

“In the Maker?”

“Yes. But is it because you’ve been taught about him? Or because you _really_ believe in him?”

The Mother stayed silent. Elissa nodded, satisfied that she had made her point, and stood up, dusting off her clothes with her gloved hands.

“Now, do what you want about the Chantry. It is not my problem anymore,” Elissa declared. She turned toward her three companions “So,” she clapped her hands together with a blinding smile. “Shopping anyone?”

She shrugged her shoulders when she saw their matching expressions of disbelief and began navigating the stalls and looking at the merchandise. After all, she thought, it wasn’t every time she found her way inside the walls of the city of Val Royeaux.

-£-

She had soon regretted her decision to stay a few hours in the City. She had been accosted by an arrow with a message that had nearly enough transpierced her head, and had been invited to join an Orlesian festivity. What a laugh.

She had grumbled and whined to everyone who wanted – or not – to hear her, but had made her way to the rich mansion of the Lady Vivienne de Fer. Their welcoming committee had been less than pleasant to say the least, just like everywhere she went in Orlais. And they wondered why she didn’t like it here. The rude man challenging her and twisting her words _and_ her silences hadn’t been unexpected, there were already a number of people thinking the same – that she was a false prophet or a puppet or worse, the one pulling all the strings – but what had been unexpected, were the words Madame de Fer had told the man in answer. Elissa wasn’t feeling very magnanimous after that because “issuing challenges and hurling insults like some Ferelden Doglord” was the answer the Madame had found the best to tell the rude Marquis?

Elissa had crossed her arms on her chest and her brows had furrowed slightly. She had tried not to outright sneer, as she had been in the polically savvy serpent den after all, but it had been a near thing.

“I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering, I’ve so wanted to meet you,” the Lady Vivienne had told her, once the man had been gone, in a pleasant voice and with a smile.

“Before we carry on,” Elissa had said with a tight smile on her lips, as she couldn’t summon the will for more. “I have to warn you that my ears work quite fine and I know an unveiled insult when I hear one. Even if I wasn’t your intended target.”

She had supposed then that Vivienne had been raising an eyebrow, but with her mask obscuring her face, it had been impossible to say for certain.

“I am a proud Fereldan,” Elissa had stated, her tone flat, but her eyes reflecting her inner fire and anger.

She had nearly tasted the shock and slow realization in the Madame’s eyes, but it had been rapidly integrated into her sharp mind and political plans, because she had then nodded and indicated a place where they could talk without spying ears.

And that had been how the Lady Vivienne, the Madame de Fer, had been invited to come in Haven to participate in the Inquisition.

It was amusing to see all these people congregating in the Inquisition stronghold, _where_ she herself was some of the time, but _in which_ she really wasn’t. She wondered if she should tell all these fine men and women that she wasn’t part of the Inquisition. Hmm. Maybe some other time, when she would feel like making the Councilors angry.

Now that she had negotiated the cooperation of the Lady Mage for the Inquisition – in which she wasn’t – she had made her way to the back alleys of the City to meet with the person who had tried to poke hole in her head. Cassandra, Varric and Solas were accompanying her.

They soon found what – or more like who – they had been searching for – a female blond elf with a penchant for backward talking, insane babbling and an overall cheery disposition that made her head hurt – and Cassandra and Elissa, with the help of a smooth-talking Varric, had recruited the so-named Sera. Her group of Red Jenny send a tingling thought to the back of her mind, like a forgotten dream, but she didn’t have the luxury to think about it much more. It was time for some sleep.

After all these emotions and shenanigans, she had decided to take the invitation of Lady Vivienne to rest in her Mansion and they had slept the night in decadent beds and eaten a truly awesome breakfast. With her Warden appetite, it hadn’t been long before there was nothing else to eat on the table – to the disbelief of the companions that weren’t used to her manners. It was even better, because the presence of Sera in the mansion hadn’t appealed to the Madame. Elissa had just smirked at their hostess, her eyes telling loud and clear that: “revenge was best served cold”. It was petty and it was because of the insult that her own people, Fereldans, had received the day before from the mouth of this Madame.

When Vivienne had inclined her head in her direction in a show of acceptance, Elissa had felt victorious and had really appreciated the start of the day.

-£-

They were on their way out of the city – it was time, she had enough of Orlesians to last her a lifetime after only a day and a half – when a voice from behind them made them stop. They turned around and were accosted by a female elf, dressed in the clothes generally attributed to Enchanters.

“If I might have a moment of your time?” she asked them.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Cassandra said in a surprised tone.

Elissa went stiff and gazed impassibly at the elf woman. So, this was the Grand Enchanter that had abandoned her brood in the hands of those Tevinter bastards?

“Leader of the Mage Rebellion. Is it not dangerous for you to be here?” Solas asked, as if waking up from wherever he was most of the time; dreamland, also known as the Fade, Elissa supposed.

“I heard of this gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes. If it’s help with the Breach you seek, perhaps my people are the wiser option.”

“And what do you want in exchange for the mages’ help?” Elissa asked curiously and a little antipathic.

“Oh, I haven’t promised the Inquisition our help yet,” the Grand Enchanter warned. “Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe: come meet with the Mages. An alliance could help us both, after all.”

Ha, the manipulator that she was! She knew there were Tevinter Mages there. And what the Fade was their problems to all these people! They couldn’t invite anyone they wanted in Redcliffe, as it was not their lands or property!

“I hope to see you there. Au revoir, My Lady Herald.”

She was gone within an instant. And with that, Elissa despised the Orlesians and their manners more than ever, if it was at all possible. She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

“Come,” ordered Cassandra, her eyes locked on the retreating form of the elven Enchanter. “Let us return to Haven.”

Would she return with them? Elissa wondered. Maybe it was time to see how were the councilors of the Inquisition.

Also, this Fiona was nothing good, Elissa decided, and if these councilors were to make a decision regarding the Mages that were in her lands, she had to be informed.

There was also the fact that this Fiona seemed to want the Inquisition to urgently meet her, as she didn’t even wait for an answer or other information they could have about the situation in Redcliffe. Let her do the journey alone, then. Alistair would stop her before she entered the Keep in Redcliffe. She hoped he had retaken the lands. She didn’t want Tevinter to have a foothold in Ferelden.

And let her discover her Mages were not in the Castle anymore. However, if she had a hand in the enslaving of her own people, she would rue the day she decided Ferelden was a good place to take this sort of decision. Slavery was not acceptable in her country. If she wanted to be one, she would go to the Imperium. Alone. She couldn’t involve anyone else in her seemingly terrible decision making.

It was decided, then.

Elissa was returning to Haven.

-£-

The return journey was slower than their way to Orlais had been. It enabled Elissa to think about all that had happened and, particularly, about the Templars and that niggling sense at the back of her mind she’d got when she saw them.

She scowled. It was like a familiar sense. Or scent. Like when Martel was always sniffing everywhere they went and her mabari had it worse in the Deep Roads, because the smell of darkspawn was familiar to him and seemed to do…

She frowned in puzzlement and concentration as she wondered about that. There was something that tried to make it to the front of her mind, but she… The Taint. Holy Mabari!

“The Taint!” She exclaimed, rising to her feet.

She immediately began pacing. What to do, what to do? She frantically wondered, pulling on her hairs.

“The Taint?” Varric questioned.

She turned around and saw her three companions looking at her as if she’d gone mad. She wasn’t far from it, really, but she was not there yet.

“It was the Taint. It was why they felt different,” she told them.

“What are you talking about now?” Cassandra snapped.

The Seeker was in no mood to play word games since they had left Val Royeaux, brooding as she was about the fate of the Templars.

“About the Templars. I sensed the Taint on them,” she explained, her tone gentle.

“What?” Cassandra yelled and was on her feet in less than a second. “They have the Blight Sickness? All of them?”

“No,” Elissa said firmly. “It’s something else.”

She sat down again, and thought about the feeling she’d had back in the city of the Orlesians. She knew it, she had already felt it somewhere else, but where in the Fade had she felt it?

“I have to think about it,” she claimed and went to lie down on her bedroll.

-£-

Their return to Haven was not joyful. It was downright freezing. Literally. She hated the cold. It was the Lady Josephine who saw them – Cassandra and her, as Varric, Solas and Sera, had cowardly abandoned them to this meeting – first.

“It’s good you’ve returned. We heard of your encounter.”

News travelled fast, didn’t they?

“You heard?” Cassandra asked, immediately suspicious.

Good woman.

“My agents in the city sent words ahead, of course,” Leliana replied, smugly.

“ _Of course,_ they did,” Elissa cursed under her breath.

“It’s a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital,” the Commander was saying.

“They had senses?” she asked in blatant skepticism.

She received various glowers from her companions and tried to shut up, her teeth clicking together when she closed her mouth. Why was she here?

“At least,” she added in a more regal tone. “We know the Chantry’s no longer a threat to my neck. Or head. Or my health in general.”

“Yes,” Josephine jumped on the occasion. “And we have the opening we need to approach the Templars or the Mages.”

If they found them first, she commented in her mind. The Mages were hidden. And she really hoped Alistair had Alexius in chains or had his corpse burning.

“Do we?” Cassandra retorted. “Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”

“That’s because of the Taint,” Elissa intervened in a low voice, fearful of spying ears.

She defended him, even though the man might have been a royal pain in the backside, back in Val Royeaux, because his behavior could partially be explained by the Taint she had smelled on him.

“True,” Leliana nodded. “He has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what? My reports have been… very odd.”

Okay, nobody had heard her speak. In fact… They were continuing on their way down the aisle of the Chantry, without once looking at her or in her direction. She stopped walking altogether and crossed her arms. And looked at the backs of the Councilors, who were all still walking down the main part of the Chantry. Without her or without noticing her absence at their side.

Why was she in Haven?

“We must look into it,” Commander Rutherford was saying. “I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.”

“Well, I really hope so for them all,” she tried again to catch their attention.

Maybe if she danced naked in the Chantry, someone would notice? It had the merit of being blasphemous as well as shocking to the Councilors.

“Or the Herald could simply go to meet the Mages in Redcliffe, instead,” Josephine argued.

And here they were, trying to decide for her. Again.

“The Mages are hidden and there are problems there,” she told the Ambassador, but she was unseen and unheard to them all.

So much for being a symbol of the Inquisition as the Herald. It had no uses. She really _was_ a puppet, wasn’t she?

“You think the Mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse!” the Commander claimed loudly to the Antivan woman.

“Hey!” she finally yelled, tired of being ignored.

The four Councilors stopped arguing suddenly and turned on their feet to see her near the door. She stomped down as she made her way to them.

“You didn’t even hear me, did you?” she asked without asking. “Because if you did, you’d be more up-to-date of what’s happening out there. It’s why I _go_ out there and want to _be_ out there,” she snapped at them. “Just for that, I’ll let you search the responses that _are_ out there. In the meantime, I’ll make a decision on my own about what to do. Without your constant nagging and pestering, and your constant discussion that achieve nothing but more headaches for everyone involved!”

The four councilors didn’t find anything to say to that, but to look at each other and made their departure from their improvised reunion, giving her looks, that she took to mean “you’re unstable, we’ll keep an eye on you”.

“What, Leliana?” she asked, exhausted to her very core, when she saw the Spymaster still standing in front of her.

“There is one other matter. Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished. I sent words to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared. You have to know something, because if you don’t, the timing is… curious.”

“Are you suggesting,” she said slowly, menacing, eyes narrowed in the direction of the Bard. “That _my_ Wardens are mixed in all this mess?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Leliana retorted.

“But you implied it,” she argued back. “How do you live, Leliana, when you trust no one but yourself?”

Her friend didn’t respond.

“Are you going somewhere with this information, Leliana?” she continued.

“Two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands heard news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. Do you know him? Why is he the only one to not have disappeared?”

She bit her bottom lips in a thoughtful gesture as she considered the matter.

Blackwall was the name of the Orlesian Warden-Constable, if she recalled correctly. Why was he in Ferelden? And more importantly, why wasn’t he in the Deep Roads or a place like that with the others? The matter deserved more pondering and it wasn’t under the curious gaze of Leliana that she could do it.

“I’ll get back to you on this matter.”

-£-

She couldn’t rest at night, her dreams were filled with the Song, and she couldn’t think properly the day, the Song was a soft hum at the back of her mind, threatening her to burst to life at all moments, if she didn’t pay attention to keep her mind and thoughts protected.

It was why she was agitated and wanted to walk and run and do _something_ out there and not stay in Haven, where she could do nothing but wait for news, under the great shadow of the Chantry of the village and next to the destroyed Temple-turned-mausoleum of Andraste.

The bags under her eyes were more pronounced, but she didn’t want to ask a mage for a sleeping potion, or to ask a soldier to bash her around the head until she would fall unconscious and could have a few hours of undisturbed silence.

More importantly, the news about the Wardens she got were not comforting.

When Leliana had confirmed to her that all the Wardens in Ferelden and in Orlais had disappeared from the public’s view, she knew something more terrible than she had imagined was up. And as she had a great imagination, she had thought about _a lot_ of things.

For a long while, she wondered if she could unveil the secrets of the Warden to the councilors and advisors, but she had vetoed that idea. They didn’t need the information and she wasn’t too trusting of them at the moment with that kind of knowledge.

However, she had agreed with herself to apprise them of the situation: that it could become ugly faster than they would like with her, if she was to stay in Haven, because of her situation. After all, she had a slow and deadly poison in her vein, known as the Taint, and a Mark of the Fade on her hand, which had unknown properties.

With the first one, she became more and more aware of the madness that seemed to consume her completely someday, when she didn’t pay attention to the present, of the time passing by, of the slowly evaporating years of a short lifespan.

With the second one, she became increasingly stressed, with decisions to make – even without her voluntary consent – concerning the whole world, and increasingly more tired of this slow death by Fade, which would, one day, engulf her whole if they didn’t find somehow a way to stop it completely. Nobody needed that kind of power, her, less so. She already had a country to think of; she didn’t need and didn’t want to think about the world.

It was even more dangerous for her, because the Mark linked her to the Fade and the Song linked her to the Fade too. She was doubly screwed in her mind.

She shook her head at the thought that popped into her head: she missed the Court gatherings of Ferelden, the Landsmeet and the words battles between the Lords and Ladies. They had been simple compared to the events and decision-making of now.

If one day someone would have told her that she would miss the life at Court, she would have knocked them on the head and told them in no uncertain term to seek a mind healer.

-£-

Harassed. That was the word she thought of when she set foot outside her cottage and walked in the village. People would gravitate toward her, like spellbound by her mere presence. Those were the easier ones to deal with. The more difficult ones were the Chantry clerics that sneered at her, sent cursed words her way under the guise of the Chant of Light and were generally nuisance to her peace of mind.

It wasn’t her fault that she had a Mark and some considered her to be the Herald of Andraste. She hadn’t asked for that title, nor for its responsibilies apparently tied to the label of Herald. But wherever she was, she could sense their disparaging opinion and the disdain emanating from them.

For Andraste’s Sake – and yes, she used that term for the irony it provided her with – she just wanted to be considered like a normal human for once in her life. Was it too much? Why was she brought into the religious problems of Thedas? Why was it her that needed to deal with the consequences? She wasn’t even a believer! But if she was to believe in something, it would be in the insane humor of Fate.

They had been in Haven for less than a full day and already the Councilors were at each other’s throats, arguing, and at their task of…. What exactly? She didn’t really know, apart to keep the Inquisition afloat.

For her part, she was gawked at, sneered at, some even prayed to her to keep them safe from the evils of the world. She was more often than not seen in the tavern, where she indulged in tankards of mead – it wasn’t as if her Warden body could become drunk with just a few – and where she learned more about the blond elf Sera. Unfortunately, she was trying to decrypt the strange code of the archer more than she was trying to speak in return, which made the elf mad. After the first catastrophic conversation, Elissa had stopped trying and retreated to a corner table where she could drink in peace.

And when it became a hurdle to be in a crowd, she retreated to the frozen lake outside of the village’s walls where she sat and stayed there, deep in contemplation.

It was as she finally calmed down that she found herself with the company of Leliana.

-£-

“Elissa,” the soft and lilting voice of the Bard called her.

She inclined her head to show she had heard, but didn’t move from her position, even if she was freezing her arse off. The cold made her feel human and normal.

“Leliana,” she greeted in answer.

The Spymaster sat down next to her.

“Do you have anything to tell me?”

Elissa felt her hackles rising at the question. It was as if the Orlesians was trying to make her mad.

“Nope,” she answered with an indifferent tone.

She felt the ground with her hand and gripped some stones in her fist. Releasing a breath, she relaxed, the air from her lungs forming white mist in front of her. With a casual gesture, she began throwing the little rocks she had gathered.

She heard Leliana sigh, but didn’t turn her head to look, even if she wanted. It was these little signs of “weakness” that reminded Elissa of better times. Or, well… Not of better times – the Blight! – but of a happier Leliana. Yes, that was it. Leliana wasn’t happy and it made Elissa sad and angry and resentful, because her friend could have been spared this fate, if only she had accepted an offer some years ago.

The Orlesian had been offered a position within the Royal Household of Ferelden, but Leliana had preferred to go on her own path of a faithful Sister. Alistair and she had let her go: Alistair, because he knew about wanting to prove something to oneself and about a higher calling – even if it was the Wardens for him – and Elissa, because she couldn’t order anything of her friend who wasn’t even from Ferelden. She hadn’t been happy about it, it was another thing the Chantry took – Leliana’s loyalty – without even doing anything.

“If it is anything to you,” Leliana began. “I sometimes regret not agreeing with the position you offered me ten years ago,” she said with a weary sigh, as if she had read Elissa’s thoughts.

That made Elissa pause. Then, it made her angry, ten-years-old wounds reopening with that statement.

“Then, why didn’t you?” she snapped in return, rising from her sitting arrangement.

She began pacing, agitated. Ten years ago, she and Alistair had offered positions to all of the friends they had made during the Blight. Nobody, save Wynne and Zevran – part-time for the elf – had accepted. Alistair had only accepted the situation as it was – and a part of her mind knew it was because he was used to being abandoned and went on nonetheless – but for her, she had taken it like a slight against her, so soon after losing her entire family. It had made her angry and as she had been pregnant at that time, it had made the situation worse, because of her heightened emotions.

“Because I wanted to make things better, just like you did with the Blight and Ferelden. I wanted to do something for the betterment of mankind. Just like you did.”

And as soon as the words were out of Leliana’s mouth, all of Elissa’s ire went away, extinguished like the flame of a candle abruptly blown away.

What _could_ she feel when her friend just wanted to _be_ like her, to _do_ like her? She should be proud. She should be self-satisfied. But she only felt weary and tired. Leliana had preferred to be like her than to be with her.

“Is that why you went with the creation of the Inquisition?” Elissa asked.

“Yes,” the Bard nodded. “A force created just to bring peace. It’s what we did with our small group during the Blight. We brought an end to it, just with the will of our group. We gained the cooperation of all and we rallied armies under the same banner. Why not do the same now, when the world at large is one battlefield for all? You did it once before, Elissa, you could do it again.”

Her words were passionate and Elissa had to give it to her: she really believed in her cause. More than that, she was right. Somehow.

What was really stopping her, then, to take command of the Inquisition? Why was she refusing?

Because she was the Queen of Ferelden, she couldn’t just take command of an Order that wanted to politic and battle its way in all of South Thedas.

But you’re not really Queen for the moment, are you? a small voice at the back of her head reminded her.

Maybe not, she thought. But she was on a Warden mission and that took precedence over anything else.

And? the voice continued. The Conclave had something to do with the affliction that the Wardens were suffering from, why had she been there if not? If she was in the Inquisition, she could have more than one way to investigate. She could use their money and their men.

A politically savvy Inquisitor? They would rue the day they choose her. So, what was her response?

“Nope.”

-£-


	10. For Poorer and Poorer Still

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here another chapter for you! And I wanted to thank all of you readers!  
> Enjoy!

-£-

They were returning to the Hinterlands, after a too little time in Haven in her opinion – even if she had felt uncomfortable in the village. She hadn’t had the time to talk to all the people she wanted a truthful point of view from and so, resolved to talk with the man of the situation: Mayor Garthol. The village was growing with newcomers arriving every day and she wanted to know if it was irritating to the inhabitants or a good change from their life. She supposed the Councilors of the Inquisition hadn’t made the time to question the residents before invading the place, but she hadn’t forgotten about them and their hospitality into their houses and their village.

She had questioned Mayor Garthol about it, and about Marquis DuRellion too, because if that lordling was about to come “reclaim” lands that did not belong to him, she would stay here and flay him alive. In the Orlesian fashion, as it was the only language the Orlesians understood. Garthol had been more than happy to share his thoughts about this migration _and_ about the Marquis.

He had said it was a great change from their peaceful lives, but it was not, for now, unwelcome and if it really was the work of Andraste, who was he to oppose it? Elissa had answered at that – of _course_ she had – and told him it wasn’t Andraste that was making their village into a training camp for soldiers and that, if the Maker’s Bride was behind all of this, she wouldn’t object to the Inquisition marking their territory anywhere else.

Garthol had then told her about the Marquis and his stay in the village. She had gritted her teeth, because _of course_ the Marquis was still here, the fool. What was he waiting for? For Andraste to know he was “authorizing” the Inquisition and her Herald to stay here, certainly. Damned profiteer.

They had concluded their meeting with the request that he told her the moment the villagers were tiring from the invading Inquisition, because she would then take care of the problem. Booting the Inquisition from here by a foot in their behind was the image that stayed with her the rest of the day, and if she was seen sniggering sometimes, nobody bothered asking her why.

-£-

They were again in the Hinterlands and Elissa was rapidly growing restless. Fortunately, they had horses this time and that had shortened their journey by half.

“What are the news?” she asked, once they reached the Inquisition camp and the leader of it had met them.

“The King is still here,” the soldier announced.

“The King?” Cassandra was furrowing her brows in consternation.

Varric had a glint in his eyes that would undoubtedly cause him to question her sexual experiences with her husband for material to write in his next book about her. Solas was his arduous old self by being impassible.

Elissa sighed.

“Yes, the King. I would have told you all of that, if only you were listening to me when I’ve been speaking,” she retorted before the Seeker could interrogate her further. “Thank you,” she added for the benefice of the soldier.

The four companions made their way in the Crossroads where she hoped Alistair was waiting for her.

-£-

“What are the news, Alistair?” she asked him, once she was alone with him, finally away from her cohorts and her responsibilities.

He had said nothing, only looked at her. She knew he was seeing more than the average person did. He knew all the signs with her: she was tired and stressed and didn’t even know where to go as she was pulled in too many directions to be of real – or tactical – use. Her armor was dirty and she knew she smelled like horses and sweat.

She let him observe all his soul in silence and did her own observation of her husband and King. His hairs were blonder than usual and shining in the fading light of the day that came through the window, his clothes were immaculate and not creased by stressed hands. He was the best representation a King could make. However, she knew him too. The tiny crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes were a sign of his fatigue. His amber eyes were duller too.

“We’ve arrested the men from Tevinter,” he informed her, at last. “Some are dead, some are prisoners. They are all saying the same thing: Alexius is not here yet. We’ll have to wait for him to show his face. But the Castle is ours once again. Teagan is rearranging things in Redcliffe and life seems to become more livable around here, after weeks of terror. The Mages are staying in hiding for the moment: they don’t know where to go and we are the only place to welcome them without – too much – prejudice. They are also afraid of Alexius and wait to see him dealt with.”

She accepted his news with a tiny nod. She hadn’t considered anything else when she had thought about the situation.

“What about the arrested men? Did they share information with us?” she asked.

“No, nothing. And I must depart for Denerim soon; I can’t stay here any longer. Teagan has regained his lands. We’ll first have to judge the prisoners before I go. Could you be with me to do that?”

“As what?” she asked, because she was so many thing, had too many titles and a different responsibility for each one, that she had to know in advance and prepare herself for the role. “I thought we agreed about my staying on a mission and let you lead Ferelden in that time?”

She sat herself on the bed of the cottage she had taken as her own and was surprised by the fact that Alistair hadn’t taken a room in the Castle yet.

“As my Queen,” he answered, now used to the different set of duties she had on her shoulders. “They are invaders on our lands, in our country, we have to take care of it. And yes, we agreed, but events are happening that impact Ferelden and all of Thedas. It is maybe time to make our presence known and let our people know the Crown hasn’t left them to deal with the chaos alone.”

“I don’t know,” she hesitated. “There is the problem with the Wardens and I don’t know how to solve it. It’s imperative that something is done about that. I can’t abandon them and let them stay in Soldier’s Peak for the rest of their lives.”

“But nothing can be done when we don’t know what is happening, Elissa,” he retorted.

“I know,” she sighed. “But the Cure will free them – us – from this Calling. And from the Taint.”

She reflected about her situation, before dismissing her thoughts and asking about another matter entirely.

“What about Grand Enchanter Fiona? Did she make it to Redcliffe?”

Alistair’s lips thinned significantly on his face, before he answered her. Something was going on with that elf woman. Something he didn’t like, _ergo_ , something _she_ didn’t like.

“Yes, she did,” he replied. “She’s in a room in the Castle, with guards. She was apparently behind this shameful contract that sold the Mages to the Tevinter Imperium.”

Elissa felt her hands contract into fists. She examined Alistair and knew there was something else.

“What is it, Alistair?” she asked him softly.

“She called me Maric, when she saw me,” he gritted between his teeth.

“What?” she exclaimed, utterly surprised. “How did she know your father? _How_ could she know him?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “But I have a bad feeling about it.”

“Do you want me to talk to her?”

“Not for the moment. I’ll reserve your intimidating tactic for later,” he told her with a small smile.

“As you wish. There is another matter: there is, apparently, a Warden by the name of Blackwall, that has been seen near the Hinterlands. Do you or your men know anything about it?”

“No. Blackwall? That name rings a bell, but…” he trailed off. “There’s no one in Ferelden named like that, is there?”

She shook her head negatively.

“Not in my Wardens. But Blackwall is the name of the Orlesian Warden-Constable and I don’t know why he’s here. Clarel wouldn’t have sent him and even if she had, he would have demanded a meeting with the Arl, if he wanted to make his way here, like Warden-Commander Clarel did in her letter to Teagan. There’s something else going on and I’ll find out what. I’ll have to investigate the matter. I can’t have a Warden doing whatever he wants or an impostor trying to be a Warden. It could be disastrous. And you know how the relations between the Warden from Orlais and Ferelden are.”

He nodded. There was a lot of bad blood between them.

Warden-Commander Clarel and Warden-Commander Elissa Cousland: two women of fierce character, with different ways to manage their Wardens and a lot of different opinions. Elissa was often seen cursing against Clarel. Their antagonism against one another hadn’t reached the First Warden and Weisshaupt yet, but she was sure that, at the first sign of conflict, they would be required to make a trip to the Warden Fortress there to resolve the matter in a civil manner.

Elissa hadn’t appreciated Clarel trying to find a way in her Warden affairs. Why the woman had sent a letter to Teagan, she didn’t really know, but the fact was, that, for Elissa, it was a way to undermine her leadership in Ferelden. Clarel knew Elissa was here and was the Warden-Commander, so why was she even trying?

Only, there was a problem now: Clarel was nowhere to be found. And Elissa was missing too, officially.

She didn’t know for Clarel, but for her part, Elissa had been on an important mission, months before the nightmare at the Conclave and would have certainly been on it for months to come. They had discussed the matter with Alistair and they had agreed together that it was better for him to lead the kingdom alone, while she was otherwise preoccupied with Warden Business.

“You’ll be on your way tomorrow then?” Alistair inquired.

“I will,” she answered and then smiled. “But tonight, I’ll stay right here.”

-£-

Alistair had needed some convincing, but he had finally relented to let her try and have a talk with Grand Enchanter Fiona. It was why she was on her way to the room the Mage had been given.

“Agent of the Inquisition,” greeted the elf.

“Skip the pleasantries,” she said harshly. “You know why I’m here. I’m here, because I want to know why. Why have you forsaken the lives of your fellow mages – some of them _children_ – by selling them to slavers?”

“And what would have been, if we were to stay here?” Fiona answered, not deterred in the least by the tone of Elissa. “Templars were here and killed us, children included. How was I supposed to take care of them? By getting them killed?”

“And how do you think you would have lived your slavery?” she snapped back. “How would the children? Only knowing a life as a slave?”

“As opposed to what? A life in a Circle? As prisoner?”

“You’ve only been here for a few months. It takes time for events to calm down and to find solutions. It’s not in snapping your fingers that a solution will magically appear. You _have_ to work for it! All you’ve done is offering your freedom, your _soul_ , to someone who will take it and ground it so far down, you’ll be – you’ll _think_ – as if you are nothing! What does _that_ accomplish for the freedom you, mages, crave so much?”

She went away, too incensed by this so-called Grand Enchanter to have a civil conversation. She hoped her words would make Fiona think. Fortunately, her absence a few weeks ago had been a boon to the other mages as they were free of persecution, by either Templars or Slavers. For the moment.

-£-

“Varric. You joined the Inquisition when Seeker Pentaghast fetched you.”

It was surprising to hear Solas start a discussion.

They had departed from the Crossroads early in the morning and decided to start the day by going to find this Blackwall. They had forgone walking and retook their mounts to facilitate their journey to the location the man had lastly been seen. It was when they neared the place that Solas took it upon him to cut the meditative silence of their group.

“Oh, she was,” the Dwarf snickered. “Very insistent that I help.”

Elissa threw a glance in Cassandra’s direction, but the woman was trying very hard to do as she was hearing nothing.

“Interesting,” the elf responded, noncommittally.

“What’s interesting?” Varric entered the game by asking for it.

“It’s surprising that an elven apostate is the one who joined the Inquisition voluntarily.”

Was it a reproach? Or just a statement?

Elissa bit her lips to avoid her mouth opening and the start of it blabbering things.

-£-

They heard them before they saw them. A warrior was training young men and trying to make them learn how to hold a shield and a sword. It was a pitying sight in her humble opinion – with nearly two decades of fighting experience under her belt – but they had courage nonetheless, and a brave man was sometimes all that mattered against an enemy. Well, some combat experience couldn’t hurt… Well, it could, that was the problem… And why was she even thinking that anyway, instead of making her way to these men?

Her group approached the four men, slowing their pace until they stopped, and waited for the warrior and his young charges to notice them.

“Remember how to carry your shield,” he reminded them. “You’re not hiding, you’re holding. Otherwise it’s useless!”

The warriors, however, didn’t bat an eyelash to their presence and continued their training. As she was rather weary on this day, Elissa didn’t want to wait more.

There was also the important matter of identity theft she wanted to resolve, because, as far as she knew, she was the only Warden in the vicinity.

She had known Clarel would let Fereleden “in peace” after she had received an angry response from Elissa, after the woman had dared to send a letter to Teagan – asking for entry in the lands to make sure everything was safe from the Blight and Darkspawn. The heated argument that had ensued because of it, between Elissa and Clarel, because “what did the woman want with Ferelden, when she was already Warden-Commander of Orlais, not Ferelden and there _was_ a Warden-Commander of Ferelden?”, had made sure of that.

“Blackwall? _Warden_ Blackwall?” she called, her brows furrowed in tension.

“You’re not – how do you know my name?” the man with the longish black beard turned and rapidly questioned. “Who sent…!”

An arrow whizzed past her head, interrupting their conversation. She whipped around, looking at dirty stragglers attacking them.

“That’s it. Help or get out. We’re dealing with these idiots first!” he raged. “Conscripts!” he shouted to the three young men. “Here they come!”

Elissa shook her head: there was something wrong with calling someone conscript when they weren’t _really_ conscripted. She resented that with a passion, because she had been one of the conscripts when she had refused to become a Grey Warden.

They dealt with the thieves easily enough and she even recognized that this Blackwall man was good with a sword. But good with a sword wasn’t all that made a man a good one: she was waiting to judge him properly on his nature. She also wanted some explanations.

While they stayed some distance away from him after the fight, the man knelt next to one of the bodies.

“Sorry bastards,” he murmured.

He then stood up and marched toward the young “conscripted” men.

“Good work, conscripts,” he congratulated them, while Elissa gritted her teeth. “Even if this shouldn’t have happened. They could’ve – well, thieves are made, not born. Take back what they stole. Go back to your families. You saved yourselves.”

What was his purpose of conscripting people, she wondered, when he couldn’t really make them Wardens?

Blackwall turned in their direction, when he sensed their cautious approach.

“You’re no farmer. Why do you know my name?” he reiterated the question, after he looked her up and down. “Who are you?”

“I’m here investigating Grey Wardens for the Inquisition,” she hesitated a little and without looking at Cassandra, she continued. “No, I’m lying. I’m investigating Grey Wardens for myself,” she added, frowning severely at the man.

“Why? Is it because of what happened at the Conclave? Because Wardens ain’t responsible for that mess.”

“I know that,” she glared at him. “I also know something very important.”

She let the silence fall around them and saw the so-called Blackwall frowning back at her.

“Take a walk,” she snapped at her three companions.

“Hey!” Varric shouted.

“What the –” was Cassandra’s response, while Solas didn’t say anything, just looked on, disapprovingly.

She made a rude gesture with her chin, indicating the way that lead back to their encampment.

“I need to talk to Blackwall here,” she insisted. “Alone.”

They understood she meant to talk about Warden secrets and the like, because they didn’t protest more and went back to the camp. They would find something else to occupy their time, she was sure. She was not their mother, she didn’t have to be here to tell them every little thing.

“What do you want?” he asked, wary of her and her questions, now that they were alone.

“To get to know you,” she told him. “Why do you think Wardens don’t have anything to do with the death of the Divine?”

“Wardens don’t have a political purpose,” he answered.

And he was right, to a point. Wardens didn’t do political, but politics didn’t escape them. It was something she had learned when she first became a Warden. The Peoples only responded to the Blight and only helped the Wardens, because they helped them in return. The so-called Treaties didn’t do much for the cooperation of everyone.

“And why are you the only _Warden_ here?” she carried on her interrogation.

“I work alone, mainly recruiting, but with the Archdemon a decade dead and no Blight coming, there’s not much interest and no need for conscripts. Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need. These idiots forced this fight, so I “conscripted” their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time they won’t need me. Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are,” he finished with a wistful tone.

She shook her head in aggravation.

“The need for conscripts is not only dependent on the Wardens. And once conscripted, there is no way out. And of course, there will be a time when a Blight will be upon us once again. Recruits are always needed. Grey Wardens are not only an inspiration, they are the only resistance between Blights and Darkspawns and those of the same evil. Theirs is not a glorious history like you preach, it’s a bloody one.”

“… Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re no Warden and are disgracing the real Wardens by proclaiming to be one,” she stated as if talking about the weather.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you’re here to besmirch my honor –” he started in angry – and was it panicked? – tones, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Besmirching _your_ honor?” she snarled, before laughing mirthlessly. “It is _our_ honor that you are disrespectful of!” she cried.

The Blackwall observed her, his eyes narrowed.

“ _Our_ honor?” he repeated in a low voice.

“Greetings,” she threw a smirk without humor at him that showed a too large number of teeth not to be intimidating. “I am a Fereldan Warden. And I can attest with certainty that _you_ , are no more a Warden than I am an Orlesian.”

He was struck speechless. And maybe, he was starting to think about that little scheme of his and about the dumb idea it had been.

“What is your purpose?” she asked. “What do you wish to accomplish by emulating a Warden? By conscripting people and letting them go? Because if your purpose is to destabilize the view people have of us, know that I will take care of the matter in a swift manner.”

“No,” he cried in consternation. “Never that! Wardens are legends unto themselves and _are_ inspirational.”

“Then why do you conscript people and let them go? Wardens don’t do that. Once conscripted, you are not getting away with it. What will they think if they want to be a Warden one day and reconsider it the next, when a _real_ Warden conscript them? You might not want to damage the Wardens, but your actions do. And they speak louder than your words ever could.”

She pondered about what to do and looked at the man, trying to devise a plan of action. The best she could do was keep an eye on him. Maybe she would ask Leliana’s spies to do it for her?

“Wait!” Blackwall interrupted her thoughtful silence. “The Divine is dead, and the sky is torn. Events like these, you need everyone who would agree to help. If you’re trying to put thing right, maybe you need me. Even if I’m not what I proclaimed to be.”

“The Inquisition will surely accept your offer. But for my part, I have a condition.”

He peered at her.

“If you want to be a Warden so much, why don’t you join their ranks?”

Something akin to hope and disbelief and restrained joyfulness passed his features, before he retook control of himself.

“Are you offering to me…” he let the sentence die on his lips.

“You were imitating a Warden until now. Why not become one?”

“My past –”

“– is your own business. From the moment of your Joining until the day of your death, you become a new man. You become a brother to all of us, Wardens. You have no past to burden you.”

-£-

“Herald! The King is asking for your presence, immediately,” one of the scout said, even before they could put a foot inside the camp.

The night was falling and she was exhausted. Elissa sighed and charged ahead on her horse, rapidly getting him to gallop, leaving her companions behind her. Alistair wouldn’t call her like that if it wasn’t important.

“What is it?” she asked, short of breath after having galloped first and run second all the way from where she had been to the Redcliffe Castle.

Alistair was waiting for her in the entrance of the keep.

“We have a Magister Gereon Alexius in our possession. What do we do with him?” he asked with a little smirk, signaling for her to follow.

They walked into the main hall, where several people were silently waiting for them.

Alistair indicated the table with a hand, where a man with Tevinter robes was sitting, chained and sporting an angry frown on his face. Guards – both Mages and Soldiers – were surrounding him, making his escape impossible. The Magister raised his head to peer at her.

“You are the survivor, yes?” he casually asked. “The one from the Fade? Interesting.”

She made her way to the table, intently studying every feature of the Tevinter before her, engraving his traits in her mind. She took a seat at the table, put her elbows on it and let her chin rest on her crossed hands.

“Why are you arriving only now?” she began. “The other Tevinter men, they were only scouts, no? To make the passage safe for you.” She nodded as if confirming a theory. “It was fortunate I was here then.”

“You may have won this battle,” he scoffed at her lackadaisical attitude. “But not the war.”

She sat upright from her slumped position in surprised shock.

“What war?” she asked and heard Alistair echoing her words.

-£-

“One of the men we have arrested is Tainted,” Alistair told her in a hushed whisper. “I thought you might want to talk to him, before we questioned him further and before anything else was decided about him. He might tell us more than Alexius with hope, and not shut up right when it begins to be interesting.”

“Yes, I hope too. And thank you,” she answered in the same murmured voice.

They were in the Chantry, listening – or in her case, proceeding to rest on her seat next to the King with her eyes closed – to the Mother, who sang the many virtues of Andraste, the Maker’s Bride.

She thought, with her supposed anonymity, she would be free of these infernal gatherings in the Chantry, but alas, it was not to be. As she was the Herald, it was apparently a blessing and an order to go to the Chantry to preach or to listen to others preach about the achievements of Andraste.

She heard Alistair chuckle next to her and she opened her eyes to look at what made him laugh.

“What?” she hissed under her breath.

“Nothing. You just reminded me of the day of our marriage,” he said and continued to snigger without being caught by the Mother.

“You mean the day you were ambushed by my brother to respond about my lack of _virtue_ and then proceeded to shock the Grand Mother of Denerim into silence by your unflattering blabbering?” she accused back.

She sensed his shoulders going up and down in an unapologetic shrug without watching him.

“She tried to teach me what it meant to be King and was using words too long for my tiny brain,” he pouted. “I was only trying to stay alive under that boring assault.”

She rolled her eyes. The day of their marriage, while she had been trying to put her weapons under her dress, the man had been trying to cram cheeses inside his numerous pockets to “keep from getting hungry while they jabbered on in the Chantry”. He had been right and while the Mother had spoken of love and hardship and the like, both had feasted on his cheese, after having cut it with her hidden blades.

That had been a good day to remember.

With that good souvenir in mind, Elissa closed her eyes and let the voice of the Mother drone on and on in the background.

-£-

“Herald! A rift has appeared in the Chantry!” someone shouted to her as she was taking a welcome break from everybody, in the Castle garden, with Alistair for only company.

“A rift in the Chantry?” she cried in disbelief. “What the – Something’s here.”

They made their way to the Chantry at a run. They found that Dorian was already there, fighting demons and spirit with his staff and fire powers.

Without waiting to be invited to the party, Elissa joined the melee and began bashing heads, Alistair right beside her. It was as if the last ten years hadn’t passed. Alistair was protecting her back with his sword and shield, which he took from a soldier, while she struck at their enemies with her sword and dagger. It might even have been easier than ten years ago, because now, they could recognize their tainted presence without concentrating. It was like an ingrained part of them and made protecting their backs easier.

It didn’t take long for the fight to end and when no demons and spirits made their reappearances, she calmly walked to the green rift in the middle of the Chantry and let the power flow from the rift to her hand.

As the link was created, she could feel the eyes of Alistair on her back, following her. She could feel the heat in them, that made her stomach clench and her thoughts whirl, adrenaline-fueled. She wanted to run to him and start something they could not. She could feel the hum of the Song at the back of her mind, and she knew Alistair was hearing it too. She could feel His presence somewhere, but she could also feel her husband close to her. He was coming closer still, and she wanted to turn and let her be drawn to him as he was to her. She wanted – _no_ , the Song in her head scolded her, she _needed_ – to mate. _Right_. _Now_.

And so, she was glad when the rift finally closed and the Song stopped and Dorian gleefully made his way toward her. She was wrenched painfully from the alluring Song and the smell of her husband. She sensed Alistair standing still somewhere behind her, panting hard as if he had just fought a war, but she did not dare turn and watch him. Not until his nearly scalding presence weren’t scorching her insides and turning them to jelly.

“Fascinating!” Dorian exclaimed, his voice was too loud after the battle, distracting her, and he tried to look at the Mark on her hand. “I knew you were the Herald, but to see you and the Mark in action… How does that work, exactly?”

Her raised eyebrow told him the answer before she could utter a single sound and she was glad she didn’t need words to be understood. She didn’t know if she _could_ talk at the moment.

“You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and boom! Rift closes,” he accused in a cheerful voice.

“Dorian,” she called him, trying, and failing, to ignore Alistair. She sounded breathless to her ears. “What are you doing here?”

For two seconds, he said nothing. But it was two seconds too long for him, who liked to talk your ears off and it made her wary of the answer he could give.

“The rift you closed here?” he indicated the place where the rift had been. “You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down? I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I was trying to destroy the device I stole from Alexius. I _think_ I did it…”

“Dorian!” she cried in exasperation. “Couldn’t you just wait for us? Be mindful of the dangers!”

“The device – an amulet – was fast deteriorating,” he reported to her to explain his actions. “It conjured the rift when I tried to make it more stable. But the rift was also the opportunity I waited for and I was able to destroy the Amulet with it.”

“What was the Amulet, then? You told me you didn’t know, but you talked about “time”?”

“Because at the time, I didn’t,” he explained to her and Alistair, his face and voice serious, which was shocking in itself and made her even more aware of the importance of what he was saying. “You see, Alexius was my mentor and I helped him develop this kind of magic, about time and how to control it. When I was still is apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. But I didn’t know he had advanced so much. I don’t even understand why he’s doing it. When Felix – that’s Alexius’ son – contacted me about the work of his father, I was alarmed and I decided to steal it. I know the risk of magic like that, and unleashed on the world, it could cause catastrophes of epic proportions. And, strangely, I want to live to see tomorrow. Alexius didn’t know about my presence here and I used that as an opportunity. And then, I met you.”

“What about this Felix?” Alistair asked Dorian, when he made his way to them. He stood, shoulders to shoulders with Elissa and she could still sense his heat beneath his clothes, beneath her own clothes, and his presence in her head. She needed to go away from him. “I’ve never heard that name before. Where is he now?”

“He was with his father. You must have arrested him. But, please, Felix is innocent in all this. He is ill,” the mage pleaded.

“I’ll see what he has to say first, Dorian,” the King responded. “But know that we don’t execute innocent people here.”

With that, Alistair threw a mournful look her way, that she caught, and she returned it with a sad one, and then, he went out of the Chantry, moving away from them, from _her_. And if his feet were moving more rapidly than usual, nobody said anything.

-£-

If this man was indeed Felix, she knew what his illness was. Alistair had told her there was one man with the Taint and he had been right. She could sense him downstairs. The feeling she got in her vein and in her blood confirmed to her that the man was at an advanced stage of the Sickness. He would completely turn soon.

With purpose, she walked to his cell and stayed right in front of it.

“Are you Felix? Alexius’ son?” she asked him.

“Yes, I am,” the man responded.

His breathing seemed a little rapid and his words appeared to be rasped from a sore throat.

“What can you tell me about your father?” she encouraged and continued to study him with intent eyes, all the while keeping trace of the telltale signs of his illness.

“He joined a cult,” he answered without much prompting. “Tevinter Supremacists. They call themselves “Venatori”. And I can tell you one thing: whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you. And he’s done it for me too,” he added with a little fatigued sigh.

“Why for you? Is it about your illness?”

“It’s all hypothesis, but… I think he needed more time to investigate my illness. Time that he didn’t have, but could “create” with the Amulet,” Felix explained. “I hope Dorian took care of it.”

She pondered how to approach her next question gently, but decided the gloves were too late for that anyway.

“Felix, did you know someone would be making their way down to see you?”

“Well, yes, I gathered someone would come interrogating me at one point.”

“No,” she shook her head. “I mean, didn’t you _feel_ me descend the stairs and making my way to you?”

He furrowed his brow.

“No…?”

So, Felix wasn’t even aware of what he could sense. He seemed like a sensible man. Maybe she could give him a chance…? It was his decision.

“You know what illness you have, don’t you?” she asked him softly.

“Yes, of course. The Blight Sickness. I was with my mother when we were attacked by Darkspawns. She did not survive and I know I don’t have much time left too.”

“Felix…” she tried and gripped the bars of the cell. “If you are willing, I can offer you a compromise.”

“What kind?” he asked with a weary sigh. “I don’t have much to offer and I know I want nothing. I’m fast approaching death, after all.”

“Are you sure about that?” she insisted. “What about a swift death? Or no death?”

He was silent for a long moment, trying to decide if she was joking or not.

“What are you talking about?”

“I can offer you a compromise,” she repeated. “Not a miracle. And the chances of it working are not good.”

He observed her, trying to decide if she was sincere.

“I’m listening.”

“What would you say about becoming a Warden?”

-£-


	11. In Sickness and in Death

-£-

“Did you give him the chance to become a Warden?”

“I did.”

“Did he accept?”

“He said he wanted to think about it.”

“Did you told him he didn’t have much time before the Blight Sickness would kill him?”

“He knows that and I think he made his peace with his inevitable death some time ago.”

“How do you think he will answer?”

“I think he will try the Joining. Either way, he has what he wants: a swift escape from the pain, by death or by becoming a Warden.”

-£-

She had been called to the room, where Felix was being guarded. The young Tevinter had an answer to give her. She was anxious to know it, even if she was nearly certain he would accept the offer, as she told Alistair.

“I will do it,” were the first words Felix said.

He was standing in the chamber, tall and proud, even with the way his shoulders were slightly shaking and perspiration began accumulating on his brow.

“Then I will prepare the ritual,” she dipped her head in acknowledgement. “We’ll do it tonight. Have your affairs been seen to in the case of your death?”

“Yes.”

And that had been it.

-£-

So-called Blackwall and Felix Alexius were here, waiting to pass the ritual of the Joining. Accompanying her was Alistair. They were both wearing their official Warden armor for the ceremony, to give it a bit more of formality.

She took the goblet from the table on which it had been sitting, waiting for the right moment. The special mixture she had learned to create when she took command of the Ferelden Wardens was inside. She nodded to her husband, ready for the ritual to begin. He stood before the two recruits and recited the same words he had given to her long ago, his head bowed in respect to departed and future Wardens.

“Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the Shadows where we stand Vigilant. Join us as we carry out the Duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your Sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we shall join you.”

She approached the two men who stood rigid and grave, the goblet held in front of her in her two hands. She looked at the both of them, solemn in this hour of oaths and pledges to their new life.

“In War, Victory,” she recited. “In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice.”

She gave them the goblet and they drank from it, one after the other.

-£-

“Is he alive?” Dorian asked immediately as she exited the door.

She closed the door gently behind her and turned to the Mage. She grabbed him by the arm and brought him to a place with less ears to listen to their conversation.

“He’ll live,” she told him.

Dorian slumped in the nearest seat, relieved, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

“He’ll live, but you have to prepare yourself to understand the changes of this life he’ll live. He’ll maybe never return to Tevinter. He is a Warden now and the oaths a Warden makes take precedence over everything and anything. We must. Do you understand, Dorian?”

“Yes, of course. But he’ll live.”

“The life of a Warden is not an easy one. And we have worries at the moment, which may or may not be our end.”

“Then, I want to help. Whatever I can do.”

“You really like him, don’t you?” she smiled.

“He’s Felix,” Dorian responded, shrugging his shoulders casually.

She nodded sagely.

“He is very weak now. Between the Blight Sickness that ravaged his body and the Joining, they debilitated him; but with time and rest, less than you’d think, mind you, he’ll be as he was before the Sickness. He’ll want to eat soon. A lot. Do not spare food for when he awakens. Now, go see him and don’t wake me up tonight.”

She pushed the Mage toward the door she had exited sooner and after a moment of preparation, Dorian straightened and entered the room.

This night was great, she thought. She had won two new recruits for the Grey Wardens, Alistair was still in the Castle, the Castle was theirs once more, and Gereon Alexius was in chains. She would even make a detour to see the Magister: he would want to know his only son was safe for the moment. Even if Alexius was an arse, he deserved to know of the fate of his child.

-£-

“I think the false Calling may have helped them pass this Joining,” she told Alistair later. “As if the one Calling wants to have more recruits. It goes without saying that it is not of good augur. He wants us, Wardens, to join him and work for him. For what purpose, I can only guess. There’s the fact that, with this Calling, nobody would dare to make more Wardens.” She smirked in satisfaction. “There’s only yours, truly,” she pointed to her chest, “to do something like that.”

Alistair gripped her arms in his hands, while she thought that, maybe, she just signed a date of death with a shorter than ever lifespan to Blackwall and Felix. Not that she regretted doing the Joining, Felix had been dying and Blackwall wanted too much to be a Warden to do anything else but say yes to her.

“Do you think you really should be wandering the wilds with the Calling? Where’s your amulet, Elissa?”

“I have no idea where it is. And what choice do I have? There’s apparently no one else out there to be me and do what I do.”

“Make the world a better place?” he asked with a small but genuine smile.

She hit his arm in retribution.

“Don’t joke about it. You know I just wanted to stay in Denerim and play with our children, be a Queen with nothing else on her mind. And look at me, here I am, a Warden, a Hero, a Herald, but not a Queen.”

“You’ll get it eventually,” he murmured in her ear as he took her in his arms.

Would she, really? She wasn’t so sure.

-£-

“Felix will live,” she declared loudly to Magister Gereon Alexius, as she entered the dungeons.

He was sitting on his bed of straws, against the cold and uncomfortable rocky wall of the cell. Bindings were still at his wrists, restraining his movements and giving him less liberty. She was aware of the irony of the situation: the slaver finally in chains.

“What?” he asked without energy and without moving from where he was.

“I made sure his sickness would not kill him. He’ll have decades to live yet.”

A look of dawning horror was soon on his face. He jumped on his feet and grabbed the bars of the cell in his hands, until his knuckles turned white. His eyes were wide open and intently staring at her own, trying to find any deceit in them. But she knew he only found the truth of her words.

“What did you do?” he hissed.

“I gave him options,” she calmly answered.

“No!” the man shouted. “No, not that!”

She frowned.

“You’d prefer to see your son dead than a Warden?”

He slumped in defeat at the confirmation her words brought him and, if she didn’t know better, she would think the man wanted to sob.

“I didn’t want that for him! Oh, son! I am sorry, Felix!”

She was afraid for the sanity of Alexius. It appeared the man was falling apart.

“Would you like to see him, before we depart?”

He nodded and stayed silent the rest of the time she was there, while she watched him. Something nagged her about his behavior. It was as if being a Warden wasn’t glorious for him. And it wasn’t. But it was as if the Tevinter Mage _knew_ it. How could he know it?

Whatever, she would have time to think about it later. For the moment, she had to prepare for the return journey to Haven, to say goodbye to Alistair and to pen a letter to her Wardens in the North to give them a written briefing about all that was happening on Thedas.

She would also have to talk to both Blackwall and Felix and make them aware of the goings on in the Warden, because it was their rights to know, but also their responsibilities. Now that they were Wardens, they had all the advantages and disadvantages of being one. It meant that they needed to go to Soldier’s Peak if they wanted a protection.

-£-

“I heard a Joining took place yesterday,” was the greeting she received from Grand Enchanter Fiona as she made her way in the chambers.

“You heard correctly. Two new Wardens have been made.”

“How can you know about the Joining?” was the inquiry.

“I could return the question. How can _you_? You’re not a Warden.”

“Not too exact. I am not a Warden _anymore_.”

Elissa was struck mute from stupefaction.

“What does that mean?” she finally found her words to ask.

Her heart was beating like mad in her chest and she thought her ears were buzzing and the sounds were muted with the shock of that revelation.

“I was a Warden. Like you,” Fiona explained and made sure to insist on the two last words. “Then I carried a child to term and with his birth, I was free of the Taint.”

Somewhere in her mind, Elissa felt her insides quivered with rage and jealousy. Here was an elf woman who had been a Warden and had been with child without help.

“And the babe? Was he Tainted?” she asked in a hoarse voice.

“No,” the mage shook her head. “He grew up like any normal person.”

“You…” Elissa trailed off. “How did you raise a child with the Wardens or with the Mages?”

Fiona took on a wistful and sad air.

“I didn’t. I let him to be raised by someone else.”

“Could you…” Elissa hesitated. “Would you consent with a donation of your blood? And that of your child if you know where he is?”

“I – I don’t know,” was the answer. “I’m not sure his blood will help, but I will consent with mine.”

Grand Enchanter Fiona took a deep breath and stared at Elissa in the eyes, unflinchingly.

“For my child… Why don’t you ask him? He is on the throne after all. Like you are.”

And the ground opened under Elissa’s feet, as big as the hole in the sky. While her emotions went in all directions, her mind crashed somewhere deep underground, in the Deep Roads under her feet, but her body was frozen standing on the earth, as immobile as the statues inside Temples and the like.

She didn’t understand. Didn’t _want_ to understand. _Oh, Andraste!_ she thought hysterically as she turned her mind to a Divinity in who she didn’t even believe. _Save me_.

-£-

“You’re his mother,” she repeated flatly. “You’re Alistair’s mother.”

“Yes.”

Elissa had taken her leave from Fiona without a word and in a daze. She had taken a great many hours to think about that revelation and had taken the time to come to terms with it. Or tried to come to terms with it, because when Alistair finally learned the truth, she would need to be here for him, for him to deal with the many emotions that would be sure to ravage his mind.

Now that she was more centered, she had again made her way to the chambers of Fiona. Her mother-in-law, she thought hilariously. An elf mage, who could help her find the Cure to the Taint.

She paced in front of the Grand Enchanter and finally understood why the Mage had called Alistair _Maric._

“He has an elven mother, who was a Warden and who isn’t anymore, who is at the head of the Mage Rebellion, who tried to sell her fellow mages to slavers, just because she was too proud to ask for help from anyone, who has abandoned him, who didn’t say anything… Need I go on?”

Fiona bowed her head in shame.

For Elissa, the woman hadn’t repented enough for all of her crimes. Her want for vengeance for Alistair, for the Mages, for the fact that the elf was free from the Taint, made her madder.

The Theirin in her was incensed by her desertion of her own child and the selling of her fellow mages.

The Warden in her was dejected and raging against the injustice of being free of the Taint without asking for it.

The Cousland in her found the actions of the elf detestable, but the Cousland side of her was the calmest of the lot and stalled the incensed Theirin and the raging Warden.

“And yet, here you are, and you dared to ask for help, to ask for _my_ help?”

There was a short moment of silence.

“I didn’t know the Herald was my…” The mage trailed off, uncertainly. “I wasn’t sure. But then, you welcomed men in your Wardens ranks with the Joining and I knew.”

“Yes… And say it,” Elissa ordered, arms crossed on her chest. “I want to hear you say it.”

“… My daughter-in-law.”

She barked a laugh. She was so angry; she didn’t know how she could stay so cold and speak so calmly.

“You are not worth the title of Mother. I don’t even know how the other Mages can let you stay as their leader after all that happened, because, as far as I’m concerned, you’re not worth the title of Grand Enchanter anymore, too.”

The thought suddenly took roots in her mind and she really understood that her children were related to an elven mage, who had been a Warden. Was her family condemned to be in the Warden’s history? That wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted her children to be free to choose for themselves what they wanted to do, what they wanted to _be_.

“I don’t know if I want you to talk to him,” she told Fiona, referring to Alistair. “He will decide that.”

She laughed without humor.

“And he always wanted to have a family. Instead, he has… you. Well, you will be happy to learn that he doesn’t need anyone but his own family. My husband and our children are happy the way things are.”

“I understand,” Fiona murmured.

No, Elissa thought, she really didn’t.

-£-

“You’re saying I have elven blood? And that my mother was a Warden, until she had me? Does that make me a Super Warden or something?”

He was pacing from one side of the room to the other, hands in his hairs, messing with them.

“Apparently, yes, for the elven blood. I don’t know for the Super Warden, though. And I think she might be able to help with the Cure. I’ll have to send Avernus a letter.”

The room was large and Alistair had the place to keep striding from one wall to the other. After all the action, it was nice to stay in a room in the Keep that Teagan let them use, and sit patiently. It was even better, because her husband was with her once more. She just had to remember not to begin an activity that could end being problematic; she could end up pregnant. A pregnant Herald was not amusing, but what was even less amusing, was a very dead Herald when her pregnancy would end.

“What should I do?” Alistair asked, stopping just before her, his legs touching her knees.

He had the air of a lost Mabari. Even without his mother present in the room, she was being a problem. Elissa shook her head, gently taking Alistair’s hands in her own and forcing him to sit next to her on the bed.

“I don’t know. You have to choose for yourself, Alistair. She’s your mother, not mine.”

“And you’re my wife,” he replied.

“That, I am,” she answered with a smile. “Truth is: I don’t know if I want you to meet her as her son. Or, maybe not now. Once all this is finished, then maybe. And I may have been a bit… unforgiving… with her. But nothing she doesn’t deserve,” she was fast to say.

Alistair laughed a little and took her in his arms, hugging her fiercely against his hard as rock chest.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” he told her.

Hiding her face in his tunic, she breathed in his scent and felt her body relax like all the time she felt his strong presence surround her. She was finally where she wanted to be, where she had to be.

“How are our children, do you know?” she murmured in the comfortable silence of the room.

“Aedan believes to be ready for his own command and is trying to order the guards around. He doesn’t have much success, I regret to inform you.”

Ha! The little brat was nine.

“Lilian has found an interest in poison-making.”

Where in Thedas did that interest come from? Oh, was it Zevran trying to corrupt her seven-year-old daughter? Was the elf doing a game of hide-and-seek with them in the Denerim Palace once again? That rascal. And since when was he in Ferelden? He hadn’t even told them!

“Bryce began training with a sword some weeks ago. He’s a natural with them. I think he will probably be wielding a weapon at all time from now on.”

Oh, good gracious. The guards would soon be sporting bruises of all trades on them, if Bryce had his way. His son was a little demon, even if he only was a five-year-old little demon.

“Eleanor is making a mess of the kitchens and running the kitchen staff ragged. I don’t really know what she’s doing in there. I think she might be trying to make cheese. But I’m not sure.”

It was a good thing that the Palace servants were happy to serve with their family, because otherwise, their children would make them run the other way. Eleanor was a little Alistair in the making. They even had the same age – mentally – sometimes: three.

“And Duncan refuses to sleep if we don’t sing him to sleep with one of your own song.”

Oh, her little tyke was thinking about her, wasn’t he? He had his one-year birthday not so long ago and she hadn’t even been there to see him and hug him.

She laughed and laughed, until she sobbed into Alistair’s tunic, thinking about her children she hadn’t see for the longest of time. She wept in her husband’s arms, with him shushing her with nonsense words, cajoling her with his gentle breath and voice, until she finally fell asleep in his embrace.

-£-

The journey back to Haven had been tedious. The weather had been bad, the mood worse and she had been depressed: she had – again – said goodbye to Alistair.

Dorian was accompanying them and the Mage seemed to be happy with the presence of Felix at his side. Blackwall was with them too. She hadn’t said anything about the Joining to Cassandra, Varric and Solas, as she considered this matter not to be theirs. There was also the problem of them being not too confident about the new people traveling with them. The Tevinters received the worst of this distrust, as the three people from the Inquisition kept throwing narrowed glances to Dorian and Felix. And Elissa, with her sour mood, preferred the company of the Tevinters than the others. If that didn’t say it all of what she thought about the Inquisition… They didn’t even want to cooperate with Tevinters who asked to help, when they were preaching to search for allies and cooperation from everyone. Hypocrites much?

It was in this distrustful silence that they made their way back to the Frostbacks Mountains and the village of Haven.

-£-

And now, here she was, back with the company of Inquisition soldiers and councilors and awed passerby.

Dorian made his presence immediately known by being his annoying self and she applauded him and his actions when she could, to the utter disgust of the councilors, save the Lady Josephine, who, Elissa thought, secretly enjoyed it all, and the Commander Rutherford, who didn’t dare say a word against Elissa or her guests.

Felix had made his home in the tavern, trying to eat all he could find. That made Elissa laugh, more so when she would see the awed looks the young Tevinter was being given. She didn’t blame him, of course. He had a new Warden stamina, but there was also the fact that he had been very ill and his body had been greatly diminished. He was trying to make it up to it.

Blackwall was staying near the stables. A great number of stalls were empty of horses, so he could safely make a bed out of the straw there. Elissa assumed that, maybe, the warrior was trying to keep out of view. Out of _her_ view, that is. Maybe he was still ashamed of his dumb idea of trying to incarnate a Warden and was waiting for her to blow off steam by trying to beat him up? The man would be waiting indefinitely then, as she didn’t plan on hitting him. He would make it up to the Wardens by being one of them, from now on.

The number of people in Haven was increasing. She had conferred with Mayor Garthol yet again to keep him apprised of all the happenings outside of Haven and for him to keep her apprised of all the happening inside of Haven.

They had laughed about the Orlesians, had drunk to the health of the Fereldans, and had ended their discussion with him narrating the story of the pranks his children had made to make the stay of Marquis DuRellion uncomfortable. She had laughed loudly and for a long time, before congratulating them.

-£-

She was accosted by a soldier, or maybe a mercenary looking at his armor, before she took a step inside the Chantry, where she had wanted to converse with Mother Giselle. The woman had news about everywhere and could inform her. Elissa preferred that than having to go to one of the Councilors.

“I’ve got a message, when you have the time,” the mercenary informed her. “We got word of some Tevinter Mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My Company Commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work.”

“I look forward to meeting this Iron Bull,” Elissa answered with a smirk, because fighting Tevinter mercenaries? So much in agreement.

“We’re the best you’ll find. Come to the Storm Coast, and you can see us in action.”

“I’ll make my way there as soon as I possibly can,” she had responded with a nod.

The reason she agreed to it so readily was because it corresponded to her plan to move her two new Warden recruits to Soldier’s Peak. The Coast was on the way. She could use this opportunity for her own gain.

-£-

With two more Wardens that would soon disappear, Elissa knew she had to talk with the Inquisition Councilors.

It was with this thinking that she made up her mind about the information she could share with the heads of the Inquisition. She had asked for a meeting with the advisors. When they were all present, she began without waiting for the pleasantries to have passed.

“The last of my memories are when I was in Soldier’s Peak, with my fellow Wardens,” she introduced the tone of the reunion.

“The Ferelden Wardens are all there?” Leliana exclaimed. “But you told me…” she frowned.

“I didn’t tell you anything, Spymaster. You understood what you wanted to understand,” she calmly answered.

“We couldn’t find any trace of them. They have not disappeared then?” the Commander asked, cutting short into the argument that was brewing between Elissa and Leliana, which was the tone their discussions took more and more these last few days.

“No,” Elissa said slowly, debating on what informing the four advisors. “My Wardens and I took refuge in Soldier’s Peak.”

“Refuge?” Cassandra repeated.

“Yes. There are some matters that need resolving with the Grey Wardens. Not only for those of Ferelden,” she explained.

“Excuse-me,” interrupted Josephine, holding up a hand. “Warden? Since when are you a Warden?” she directed at Elissa. “And is this matter why the Wardens have all disappeared from Orlais too?”

“You really have no trace of them anywhere?” Elissa inquired, a little desperately, and then cursed under her breath. “I told Clarel not to act rashly, but does she listen? Nooo! That woman is more trouble than she is worth!”

She took a breath, held it for a few seconds and released it.

“Yes, I am a Warden. I’ll have a talk with you after this. For the Orlesians Wardens, they might be in the Deep Roads. Or they might be somewhere else, trying to do something stupid. I’d vote for the something stupid. That woman is a menace. But,” and there, she sighed. “She is a charismatic menace, who believes in the greater good. I can’t blame her for that, if nothing else.”

The silence was ringing in the room.

“Why the Deep Roads?” Josephine asked, her brows furrowed.

“What I’m about to tell you does not leave this place. It is Warden Business that I can’t tell anyone, but I have enough respect for all of you to not divulge it. Is that clear?”

They nodded, their bodies tensing.

“The Wardens, _all_ of them, have been under the impression that their time for death was coming. They hear the Calling and it is growing more loudly with each passing day.”

“The Calling…” breathed Leliana. “I knew there was something, but I never imagined…” her eyes opened in dismay. “That means… You…”

Elissa nodded coolly.

“Yes. I hear it and have some semblance of control for the moment. But I fear it will not be long before I become a mindless husk just wanting to do the bidding of the creature generating that Call.”

“Then,” Cullen cut through the discussion. “It is not real?”

“It is false. It cannot be real, of that we are sure. All Wardens cannot be affected at the same time. For them to hear it now, something fishy is going on.”

“And what about Soldier’s Peak? I remember you and Alistair wouldn’t speak of it after we went there ten years ago,” Leliana told her.

“Yes, Warden Business. We found a lot of things there, a lot of secrets. I moved my Warden to the keep in Soldier’s Peak, because it is the only place I know that has a… barrier against the Calling.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows were raised on her forehead, as were those of Cullen and Josephine.

“And Al –” Leliana began to say before cutting short her sentence. “The King? What about him?” she asked.

“Yes,” Cullen interrupted. “Is the King at risk of departing without saying anything to anyone?”

Elissa breathed deeply.

“He hears it too. His family hears it too. But we found a way to make it avoidable for the six of them. I won’t tell you how, the safety of the royal family, of Ferelden, of the Wardens, depend on my silence.”

“We understand,” Leliana cut before Cassandra could speak.

The Seeker closed her mouth with a click and her eyes narrowed when she glowered at Leliana.

“Excuse-me again,” Josephine cut short their talks in her warm accent from Antiva. “But what exactly is the Calling?”

The silence was more pronounced this time, all gazes riveted to her as they waited for her explanation. Her eyes were sharp and stony, as was the rest of her face.

“The Calling is a song that compels us to listen and obey. In the time of a Blight, it is sung by the Archdemon. It is its way to give orders to the darkspawns everywhere. Wardens don’t understand it. When they begin to understand it – in words – it means a Blight is going on and an Archdemon made its appearance, or it means a Warden will soon succumb to a fate worse than death.

“We are compelled to obey and do the bidding of the Archdemon or go look for him in the Deep Roads, if there is no Blight. Today, even if we, Wardens, hear the Calling, we know it is not an Archdemon. We have… ways to determine if there is one, and I can assure you, there is none.

“However… Someone, _something_ is imitating the Calling. It compels us to go somewhere. I try not to listen, and so, I can’t tell you where that creature wants us to go now.”

The four Councilors were silent after her explanations as they integrated these facts with the rest of the situation in Thedas. She could tell what they were thinking: the events were deteriorating everywhere and concernedly fast.

She would let them stew in their thoughts for the moment. They would make plans and they would try to make her rally to their cause. It was time to depart, before they found the use of their mouth once again.

“Well,” she regally declared. “I’ll let you think.”

And she was gone, quick as the wind.

-£-

She had waited in the shadows, inside the Ambassador office, for the woman to make her apparition.

“You did not tell me you were a Warden,” the Antivan woman began as soon as she saw Elissa in her office and the door was closed.

The Lady Montilyet made her way behind the wooden desk, as Elissa came in front of it.

“I did not,” she agreed.

“But the others were informed of this fact,” the Ambassador stated, her accent of warm Antiva making Elissa suddenly think about her sister-in-law in Highever.

“They were,” Elissa confirmed.

Josephine stayed silent long enough for Elissa to see her eyebrows knitting together above her eyes.

“Why?” the Ambassador finally asked. “I am the Ambassador, not them. To know you were a Warden would make matters and relations different for the Inquisition.”

“That is exactly for that reason that I didn’t tell you,” she calmly answered. “The fact that I am a Warden shouldn’t serve a political purpose. It is not what we are meant to do.”

The eyes of Josephine narrowed at that.

“What is your name?”

“Oh?” laughed Elissa, mockingly. “Now, you ask my name? I thought you were entirely satisfied with only my title of Herald.”

“Oh no,” Josephine told her, a little sheepish, her cheeks suddenly beginning to color in pink. “If I appeared less than uncaring, I am sorry, I… it is all so new to me, I haven’t had to be an Ambassador for an Order that spanned the entirety of the South before. There is so much to oversee…”

And Elissa believed her, there was nothing deceptive in her tone or in her words. She inclined her head in acceptance of the apology.

“Then, we must remedy this situation,” Elissa told the Antivan. “Greetings, Lady Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador of the Inquisition. I am Elissa Cousland.”

“Cousland?” the Ambassador repeated. “But…”

There was a shocked silence, defeaning in her ears, as she saw the Lady Josephine make the required connection in her head.

“You’re Elissa Theirin! The Hero of Ferelden! The Warden-Queen!” Josephine stuttered.

“That is my married name, yes. And my titles.”

The Antivan fell bonelessly in her comfortable looking chair behind her desk. After a few seconds of silence, she straightened her back and her posture, as her features remade a composed face once again.

“We could –” she started but was soon cut off by the hand in the air of Elissa.

“Absolutely not,” she affirmed in a hard voice. “My presence here is only known as the Herald and nothing else. It will stay that way.”

“Why? We could make alliance with –”

“No,” Elissa reiterated. “I am the Herald. Nothing else. I must remain anonymous.”

She saw the Lady swallow back a reply, forced a cool facade on her face and inclined her head, hands crossed on the desk.

“If that is what you wish, Herald.”

“It is,” Elissa smiled.

She started for the door, but her thoughts turned to one matter she wanted resolved before going outside. She whirled on her heels, startling the Antivan.

“There is a matter: Marquis DuRellion.”

Lady Montilyet pinched her lips and Elissa couldn’t determine if it was because the woman wanted to laugh or not.

“Not to worry, Your Worship,” she finally told Elissa. “Haven is Ferelden property and it will stay that way. Or if you have something to say…?”

Elissa laughed bitingly.

“No, of course not. Ferelden land it is, Ferelden land it will stay. That Marquis is welcomed to stay for however long he wants. But if he begins to make a bid for Haven, I will see him evicted from here. I have a Mabari waiting for nothing else but the opportunity to hunt something, I have to warn you.” She smiled a ferocious smile. “Good day, My Lady.”

She was out the door before the Ambassador could protest, make a sound or complain about the manners of Fereldans.

Now that all that diplomacy crap was done, she had to prepare for her journey, which would bring her near her childhood home: Highever. She couldn’t wait to be there and hug her brother Fergus for all she was worth.

Wait. Why was she going the diplomacy route again? She should have just bashed their head together. She was sure Alistair’s method was brilliant.

She sighed and promised herself she would just do that next time.

-£-


End file.
